


The path of the fallen

by svcre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (post S3 finale), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Canon compliant through S3, Dean has PTSD from hell, Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Fix-It, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Requited Unrequited Love, Some depictions of violence, Sub Dean, hbo!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svcre/pseuds/svcre
Summary: Dean has been in hell for nearly a hundred years when Castiel finally finds him and returns him to earth. He and the angel quickly strike up a friendship that baffles everyone who once knew Dean, but what with his brother's erratic behavior, the looming rise of Lucifer, and memories of hell haunting him at every turn, Dean has to take his comfort where he can get it. After all, good things do happen... right?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Ruby/Sam Winchester
Comments: 50
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write a finale fix-it, but then I realized that my issues with the show go back SO much further... not that I have much beef with S4/S5, but this is how I would have written/ended the show :) 
> 
> I originally was trying to stick to posting one chapter a day, but my health has not been so good :/ so just know that I'm getting the chapters out as quickly as I can!

A few facts: 

\- Dean spent a hundred years in hell, and twenty-nine on earth. 

\- Dean went to hell to save a brother whose name he forgot around year eighty-eight. 

\- Dean was in hell, but the world above went on as usual, for the most part. Ten almost-normal months passed during the hundred years Dean was in hell. 

\- Dean had accepted, even before he was first dragged down by the hellhounds, that hell was where he deserved to be, and where he would have ultimately ended up even if he hadn’t made the demon deal. He also didn’t believe that it was possible to get in or out of hell by any means accessible to him, or anyone who had ever been a friend to him. John Winchester hadn’t found a way out, after all, and he’d had a long time to look. 

\- Sam Winchester gave up all hope in the second half of the ninth month. 

~~~

When Dean woke up in the coffin, his first thought was that Alastair must have once again gotten too busy to deal with him in a hands-on way and decided to just do the claustrophobia-torture thing again. If that was the case, he wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of yelling and screaming just yet. He’d lie here in dignified silence for as long as he possibly could, maybe give his torn and frayed vocal cords a break. 

But his eyes eventually adjusted to the near-complete darkness, and something about the quality of the wood didn’t seem like what he was used to in hell. Everything in the pits was like a bad dream -- dark and red, with all the details but the most agonizing and pertinent ones elegantly blurred out. It wasn’t something you’d notice in the moment, but here, with a comparison readily available, the difference was obvious. Dean shouldn’t be able to see the individual grains in the wood of the coffin. His legs and arms should already be cramping excessively from the limited range of motion. The coffin’s top should be converging threateningly on him. 

And an actual, living earthworm should _definitely_ not have just fallen through one of the minuscule slats in the wood onto Dean’s forehead. 

Dean cleared his throat and began banging on the coffin’s lid experimentally. He was almost surprised when it actually moved slightly -- another thing that would never have happened in hell. Where _was_ he? 

The cascade of dirt onto Dean’s face when he finally got the coffin open was almost a relief. Here was a sensation besides _pain_ , and as he clawed upwards, he could already tell that this particular onslaught actually had an end. A close one, too, judging by how quickly his outstretched hands managed to grasp at air and push against the ground. He gasped as he pushed his head through the hole he'd dug, pulling the rest of his body out of the ground and spitting out dirt. Clumsily, he rolled over and pushed himself into a standing position.

The sun was too much. It was so much that Dean couldn’t do anything at first but slam his eyes shut and cover his face with his arms. But after a few moments of confusion, he was able to straighten up cautiously, and assess his surroundings through squinted eyes. 

It definitely looked like he was on earth again. 

But looks didn’t necessarily tell you the truth. 

The grave site Dean had risen from looked like the site of a small nuclear event, with all the surrounding trees dead on the ground in a perfect ring and the grass still smoldering slightly. There were absolutely no distinguishing details about the scene that let Dean know exactly where he was. 

In life, Dean had been all over the country. Memories of what he’d seen had been gone for years, replaced by a series of much worse and more relevant ones, but here, now, breathing what seemed to be the actual air of the living, a loose series of memories slowly swam back to the surface. These types of trees, this grass, the flat, desolate land all around -- this could be any number of states, Dean knew. 

He picked a direction and started walking. Another memory was floating around in his head -- this one from his time in hell -- and he needed to write it down as soon as possible. 

Miraculously, a gas station appeared after around an hour of walking. Soaked in sweat and nearly bowling over from how badly he needed water and food, Dean staggered into the place, looking, he guessed, like hell. 

There was one guy manning the register. A quick scan told Dean that he was the only one there. 

“Where am I?” Dean rasped, heading straight for the guy. 

The guy had been idly watching the ancient TV perched above the counter, and swung his gaze to look at Dean with a casual air that immediately turned to one of panic. 

“Holy shit,” the guy said. 

“I know,” Dean said. “I look amazing. Where am I?” 

“Eastern Colorado,” the guy said, looking towards the door. “Not too far from Limon.” 

“Do you have a pen and paper?” Dean said. It took him a few tries to get the words out -- his voice wasn’t working completely right, probably because he hadn’t had a drink of water in around a century. 

The guy wordlessly passed a pen over the counter, and added a few old-looking receipts after a quick glance yielded nothing in easy reach. Dean nodded his thanks and began drawing. 

“So,” the guy said. “Where you coming from, man?” 

“I need some water,” Dean said, squinting at the receipt. He was worried he wasn’t remembering everything properly -- there was a lot that he needed to get down. 

“Sure,” the guy said. “That’ll be $1.40.” 

It was futile to try to remember any more until the guy was dealt with, so Dean slammed the pen down and looked right at the guy. “Do I look like I have $1.40?” 

The guy flailed, eyes casting towards the landline on the wall. Dean picked up a nearby stapler and used it to smash the phone, and the guy let out a small whimper. 

“Let me get a couple things and be on my way,” Dean said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

The guy nodded quickly. He seemed scared, but not terribly surprised, at the way the encounter was going. 

Dean stalked the aisles, shoving a bunch of water bottles into a tote, as well as some things he only remembered about once he saw them -- PopTarts, Coke, Milky Ways, Cheetos -- memories from another life. Eyeing a car outside that looked easy enough to jump, Dean headed for the door, then doubled back as if he’d only just forgotten something. 

“I’m sorry about this, man,” Dean said, reaching over the counter and slamming the guy’s head into the nearest wall. He let out an aborted groan and slid to the floor slowly, where he laid with his head lolled all the way back. He probably had a concussion, but one he’d recover from. Dean stepped over his body and took out all the money from the cash register, as well as the contents of his wallet. 

Jumping the car was another memory that returned to Dean almost as soon as he attempted it. Strangely, it was the experience of driving the car that first began to really, truly convince Dean that he might _actually_ not be in hell any more. Hell could have coffins, and dead trees, and flat land that extended forever, and innocent people whose heads needed bashing, but Dean had never known hell to have cars. The demons were a little bit behind the twentieth century, still. 

Dean drove past the first several towns he passed. Once he had his water, he didn’t really feel that food or sleep was really necessary, so there was no reason to stop driving. It was already almost night when he started driving, and he didn’t stop until the next morning, though his progress had been significantly slowed towards the end by an errand that was becoming increasingly urgent. 

He finally stopped in Bismarck, where he dumped the car and got a room at the cheapest motel he could see. His plan had been to clean himself up a bit and hopefully make himself look less suspicious, but Dean found that looking at himself -- his impossibly 29-year-old self -- in the blurry mirror was an unnecessarily uncomfortable experience, so he quickly abandoned any cleaning process that was too involved. He took off his sweaty clothes, clumsily rinsed the dirt off his skin, and put the clothes back on. 

Dean had finally stopped driving because he’d found a tattoo shop -- a little place on the side of the road with a tiny red neon sign advertising its services. Dean walked in to find exactly the type of place he had expected (and wanted) to find -- a gritty, leather-bound place with one heavy set guy sitting at a desk whose name tag read “GIL.” 

As luck would have it, Gil had no other appointments until the evening, so he said he could do the tattoos Dean wanted. Looking at the receipts which housed Dean’s sketches, Gil seemed only slightly put off by the informal nature of the appointment. 

“You sure about this?” Gil said. “Doing both arms in one go is a lot for most guys.” 

“I’m sure,” Dean said. “Can you get it all done today?” 

“Sure,” Gil said. It was pretty easy to read in between the lines and deduce that it would not be Gil’s best work, but as long as the shapes were all the right places, Dean guessed the symbols would do their jobs. 

Gil started on his right arm, the tattoo machine buzzing calmingly. Dean exhaled for the first time in over a century. 

“Damn,” Gil said, after a couple of mostly silent hours had passed. “You sit like a rock.” 

“Just used to pain,” Dean said. He figured it was better to say that then the truth, which was that Dean wasn’t even _feeling_ any of the pain he was supposed to be feeling each time the needles pierced his skin -- he only registered the feel of the gentle vibrations of the machine. If anything, the feeling of human contact each time Gil wiped away the excess ink or pulled his arm a certain way was actually pleasant enough so as to render the experience positive overall.

When Gil switched to the left arm, they ran into a small problem. 

“Uh,” Gil said, looking at the larger-than-life handprint that was burned into Dean’s left shoulder. 

“Interesting,” Dean said, momentarily forgetting to censor himself and act like he had already known about the handprint. 

“Looks like you got into… some kind of something there,” Gil said, and then, mercifully, moved on. Dean supposed he had probably seen worse. “I can’t tattoo over that skin. There’s too much scar tissue.” 

“The top part should be okay to leave off,” Dean said. 

Gil nodded and picked up the tattoo gun again. Lost in the soothing buzzing sounds, Dean wondered about the handprint. He had none of his hell scars anymore, or even any of his pre-hell scars, so the handprint was curious indeed. The one who had rebuilt his earth body had clearly wanted him to see it -- that much was obvious, though the reason _why_ was not so clear.

By the time Gil was done, Dean still hadn’t figured out the why. 

~~~

Dean had been back in the motel room for around a day before something else happened.

His arms were pleasantly sore, as if he had gotten a massage from someone who had been just a little bit too overzealous, and he tried to sink into that feeling in an effort to avoid feeling anything else. He paced around the room for a while, trying to burn off some extra adrenaline. Eventually, he realized that there would be no burning off the extra adrenaline -- it was just _there_ \-- so he tried to lie down. But every time he did, he imagined another way a demon could break in and ruin his fragile illusion of freedom from hell. His new tattoos should make him difficult to find and (more importantly) difficult to fuck with, to the extent that he almost _wanted_ some demons to come in and _try_ and make him do anything, see how far that got them, but then he started to get visions of the tattoos melting off his arms and rendering him powerless and back in hell, so vivid that he could almost smell the sulfur and burning flesh. He fell asleep a few times, but every time he gasped awake as soon as he started to dream, his subconscious well-versed in the art of not letting him sleep too deeply. 

He’d fallen into a light sleep once again when the thing of note happened. At first, he assumed that the piercing noise that made its way into his dream was just from another nightmare, but then the lightbulb above him exploded, raining glass down on Dean and waking him up for real. He scrambled to shelter in the bathroom, where the mirror promptly exploded as well. Falling to his feet, Dean’s arms went up involuntarily, trying to protect his ears from the increasingly loud screeching sound. 

It was almost a relief when the door to his room opened of its own accord and a trench-coated figure walked through. Dean looked up, free to move around now that the sound was gone, and took in the messy hair, the blue eyes, and the serious expression that was walking through the door, acting like the blown-out remains of the room around him was nothing new.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, looking at Dean like he was both slightly angry and confused by him. “Do you remember me?” 

“Castiel,” Dean said, nodding. “You look a little different.” 

Castiel just kept staring, perhaps not knowing how to respond to that. His borrowed nostrils flared just slightly, and Dean could swear that he saw a break in his flesh vessel, a view of the skyscraper-sized celestial form of the angel he had first become acquainted with. But the illusion was broken as soon as it had begun. 

“We have much to discuss,” the angel said.


	2. Chapter 2

They were seated on two adjacent park benches somewhere in Minnesota, overlooking a small lake where ducks and other waterfowl were swimming around and squawking at each other. It hadn’t even been a full minute, and already the ducks seemed to be taking an interest in Castiel. 

“Why here?” Dean asked, breaking the silence that had been blanketing them for what felt like a very long time. Castiel had flown them to the park as soon as Dean had given the go-ahead, and all the nearby light bulbs had exploded upon their landing. A pedestrian had noticed, but immediately un-noticed at a wave of Castiel’s hand.

“I like this park,” Castiel said. “And it’ll be easy to see anything coming.” 

Unable to argue with that logic, Dean lapsed into silence again. 

“I see that have have wasted no time in sullying your vessel,” Castiel said, gesturing to the tattoos showing through on Dean’s wrists. 

“You don’t like these?” Dean said, holding his wrists up. “Wait ‘til you see my tramp stamp.” 

“But you don’t have a…” Castiel’s brow furrowed. Dean looked at him meaningfully. “Ah. A joke. I meant that the tattooer didn’t get everything exactly right. May I?”

Dean nodded, and Castiel reached over to touch his arms, one at a time. Dean felt a slight pinch, and saw a couple lines move themselves around, and several of the wobblier lines straightened themselves out. 

“Now they're correct,” Castiel said. Dean reached up to feel his left arm, where the handprint was, and noticed that it was still there. He tried to think of a non-accusatory way to ask Castiel why he hadn’t healed that particular scar, but his brain wasn’t moving as fast as he thought it used to, his first time on earth. 

“Where were you the past few days?” Dean asked instead. 

“Hell,” Castiel said. 

“Hell?” Dean said. He tried to do the math in his head -- three days topside had to be at least a year down below. “You didn’t get out when I did?” 

“Dean, I raised _you,_ ” Castiel said. “Escaping for myself was an ordeal in itself.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Dean said. “I shouldn’t have left you like that.” He had thought that Castiel would be right behind him -- in fact, the angel had promised he would be. 

“You didn’t know, Dean,” Castiel said. “And I got out anyway.”

An immediate question then came to Dean’s mind, the question of _how_ Castiel had gotten out in only a year when he’d been down in hell with Dean for at least five, but the angel fended it off by asking his own question first. 

“Why have you not gone to your brother?” he said. “I had assumed that would be the first thing you did.” 

“My brother,” Dean muttered. Memories of his brother still seemed hazy, like memories from two or three lifetimes ago, but they had slowly started to come back, the longer Dean spent topside. His most concrete one was of a boy, around seven years old, smiling up at him as they set off fireworks over an open field. When had that happened? How old was his brother now? Dean had assumed he must be dead, until he’d glimpsed the date back at the gas station and learned that it was only 2009. 

“Did his name return to you?” Castiel said. 

“Sam,” Dean said. “Sam Winchester.”

“Good,” Castiel said with a nod. “I hear that he has been attempting to bring about your return for quite some time now.”

“Does he know that I’m back?” Dean said. 

“Not to my knowledge,” Castiel said. “I’m sure he would like to hear the news from you.” 

Of course it had already occurred to Dean that he should try to find Sam. In fact, a deeply forgotten part of Dean’s brain had started screaming _find Sam, protect Sam_ right from the moment he’d climbed out of the grave. Part of him wanted to tell Castiel to fly him to wherever Sam was, immediately. But that part of Dean had been so long dormant that he didn’t believe he could really do it anymore. How could he possibly put on a happy face for someone who (if memory served) knew him so well? How could he act like he hadn’t spent a century in hell? How could he protect someone else when he no longer was interested in protecting himself? 

“Is there a reason--” Castiel began. 

“Of course there’s a reason, Cas,” Dean snapped. 

Castiel waited for Dean to take several deep breaths, turning his attention towards the ducks again. They had been creeping closer and closer to the angel, and now a few of them were at his feet, rubbing against them reverently in a suspiciously non-duck-like manner. 

“Okay, it’s like this,” Dean said. “I haven’t been able to figure out, since I got here, if this is real or not. Everything about it seems real, except for the fact that it _shouldn’t_ be real. How could I have possibly gotten out? How do I know this isn’t some elaborate torture device? It’d be pretty smart, you can’t deny it… trick the tortured souls into having hope again, and then just crush it.” 

“This is real,” Castiel assured him. 

“Then why?” Dean said. “Why me? Isn’t there a whole army of souls in hell that would love to get out? Why did you pick _my_ soul? I don’t think I belong up here any more, Cas, I really think I don’t.”

“You seem reluctant to accept that good things can happen,” Cas said.

“Yep, got me there,” Dean said. “Hell is famously where bad things happen, so, yeah, I’m a little skeptical of anything claiming to be _good_.” 

Cas sighed heavily, kicking off the ducks that had now begun lying on him and getting up so that Dean was forced to look directly into his eyes. “You are no longer in hell,” Cas said. “You are on earth, where miracles _do_ sometimes happen. I was ordered to take you here because we have work for you, as I've told you already. But that work is not of import right now. You should go to Sam.” 

Dean met Cas’s gaze for a long moment. He couldn’t tell if it was Castiel himself, or the vessel he was occupying, but Dean found himself completely unable to tear his eyes away from the angel’s blue ones.

“I don’t know where Sam is,” Dean finally said, forcing his eyes down. The tension in the air lessened immediately. 

“Do you remember Robert Singer?” Cas said. “Bobby, for short? He will know.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean said. As he spoke, a series of images flashed through his head -- a dirt lot filled with old cars, a house crammed to the brim with weapons and books, a grumpy, ill-shaven man in a worn baseball cap. The images were all positive, and Dean felt, more than recalled, that this man was important to him. 

“Good,” Cas said. “Go to him.” 

“And say what?” Dean said. But a flapping sound and a set of screeches from the ducks let him know that Castiel was already long gone, leaving Dean with all his unanswered questions dead on his tongue. 

~~~

Like everything else, the way to Bobby’s came back to Dean as he thought about it more. By the time he was pulling up to the lot, he’d become convinced that he must have gone to Bobby’s from every single direction in the continental U.S. -- how else could the random patch of road connecting rural Minnesota to South Dakota seem vaguely memorable to him? He knocked on the chipped door to the house, nervously reminding himself that this person had clearly been a friend, because why else did he feel so immediately familiar with all the sights and sounds around him? 

The door opened to reveal a scowling old man with a massive shotgun in his hands. 

“Bobby,” Dean said with a tentative smile. 

“Who the hell are you and how’d you get Dean’s body?” Bobby said in a dark tone. 

“It’s me, Bobby, I swear,” Dean said. “I got out of hell.” 

“Oh, of course you did,” Bobby said, lowering his weapon only to pick up some water and throw it in Dean’s face. 

“Is that holy water?” Dean asked. Truthfully, he knew the answer was _yes,_ not because he remembered how cautious Bobby was but because there was still the faintest trace of hell on him, a trace that recoiled and screamed at the contact. 

“Not a demon, I guess,” Bobby said, pulling out a silver knife. “You want to do this part the easy way, or the hard way?” 

Dean held out his hand, letting Bobby draw a shallow cut on his palm. Bobby stared at the innocuous cut for a few moments. 

“Okay. Some kind of pagan god, then,” he said, rushing towards the study. 

“Bobby!” Dean called after him. “It’s really me, Bobby. I don’t know how to convince you that it’s me, because I barely remember anything from before hell, but it is me, and from what I do remember, you were like a father to me, so... I figured I should find you.” 

“Oh, really,” Bobby said, sorting loudly through a drawer now. “You just walked right out of hell? Sounds right.” 

“No, I didn’t walk out,” Dean said. “An angel resurrected my body and freed my soul.”

Bobby froze, a wooden stake he’d put on the desk rolling off and clattering loudly onto the floor. He didn’t seem to notice. 

“An angel?” Bobby said quietly. 

“Yes, an angel,” Dean said. “He found me, and pulled me out.” 

Bobby was silent for another moment, then began his frantic search again. 

“Bullshit,” Bobby said. “There’s no such thing.” 

“There is,” Dean said. “They’re almost never on earth, but trust me, there is.” He scrambled for some way to convince Bobby, then remembered the handprint. “Here,” he said, pulling his shirt down. “The angel left this.” 

Bobby approached slowly, as if ready to bolt at any moment. He touched the blistered skin with a careful finger, looking puzzled. 

“Anything could have--” Bobby began. 

“It was an angel,” Dean said. “I saw its true form when I was in hell. There’s nothing else it could have been.” 

Bobby just stood there quietly for a long moment. It was obvious he was thinking, but of what, Dean had no idea. 

“I need to find Sam,” Dean said after it became clear that Bobby wasn’t going to break the silence. “Do you know where Sam is?” 

It seemed that this question, more than anything else, finally began to convince Bobby that Dean was himself. 

“I might have an idea,” he said.

They were on the road within the next ten minutes, Dean’s stolen car stashed in with the other shitty cars in the lot. Bobby was mostly silent throughout the drive, though Dean couldn’t tell if it was because Bobby wasn’t great with words or if he still didn’t trust him. He only broke the silence when they were around an hour out from the town Sam was supposed to be in. 

“So,” Bobby said. “You remember anything? From down under?” 

“Not a damn thing,” Dean said. For some reason, his instincts were screaming at him to omit as much of the truth as possible. “Except the angel finding me. And, uh, pulling me out.” 

“Guess that’s a good thing,” Bobby said. “Probably not a lot of happy memories made down there.” 

“Just one,” Dean said, thinking of Cas. 

“Figures,” Bobby said. “You know, Sam’s been trying to bust you out for this whole time. I tried to keep him from doing anything stupid, but, you know how it is with that kid.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, with a forced laugh. He didn’t really know how it was, but he wanted to. When he’d first gotten freed, he hadn’t spared much thought to the life he’d left behind, all effort put towards determining what was real and what was fake, but now that he was around Bobby, he was beginning to feel robbed. Evidently, Dean used to be a _person,_ a real one with relationships and feelings and a penchant for cracking jokes at inappropriate times. A ghost of that person was still in Dean now, but he couldn’t imagine how to actually become who he used to be, or even anything close. He had died for Sam, so he must have cared for him deeply, more than he cared for himself, but thinking of that level of devotion now, Dean couldn’t help but just feel… tired. How had he managed it? 

“You think he succeeded?” Bobby said. “You think this angel came from Sam?” 

“No,” Dean said immediately. “The angels don’t take orders from humans. They pulled me out for some type of heavenly plan.”

“They say anything about what that plan is?” Bobby said. 

“Not yet,” Dean said. “Cas did say something about me being the 'righteous man', but that’s all I know. I think that's all he knows, too.” 

“Cas?” Bobby said. 

“Castiel,” Dean corrected. 

“So we have pet names for it already,” Bobby said. “Great.” 

They were quiet again until they got into the town -- some random, mostly quiet place in Iowa. It had one motel, and Bobby headed straight there. They checked every person who had checked in within the last week, and one name jumped out at Dean for some reason. 

“Room 34,” he muttered to Bobby, who thanked the bored-looking girl at the front desk. 

The place was gaudy and visibly grimy, making it inherently familiar to Dean. Room 34 was at the very end of the hall, slightly more private than all the others. Dean knocked loudly on the door, half expecting no one to answer, but the door was quickly opened by a pretty brunette girl. 

“Um, who are you?” she said in a bratty tone. As she made eye contact with Dean, her true face showed through, and Dean recoiled. 

“She’s a demon,” he said. 

“Woah woah woah,” Sam said, appearing from deeper inside the room. “Dean?” 

“Why are you with a _demon_ , Sam?” Dean said, the familiar need to chide his brother for doing stupid shit returning instantly.

“She’s helping me,” Sam said haltingly, clearly still shocked. Turning back to her, he said, “Ruby, maybe you should get out of here for a second.” 

Without another word, she smoked out of the body. Dean watched her go, wondering if it was worth the effort to attempt to restrain her, but before he could decide, Sam was crushing him in a hug. 

“I can’t believe you’re back,” he said in a rush. “I tried everything to get you back, you know, but nothing worked.” 

“Yeah, I’m back,” Dean said. 

“You’re not skeptical at all?” Bobby said. 

“I assume you did all the tests,” Sam said. “Plus, I’d know Dean anywhere.” 

Dean kind of doubted that, but he smiled thinly at his brother in response. 

“So, Sammy,” he said. “Whatcha doing in Assfuck, Iowa?”

“Hunting demons,” he said, throwing his shoulders back slightly as he said it. “It’s pretty much all I’ve been doing. Ruby has been helping.”

“Could explain why I’m barely worth a call these days,” Bobby scoffed. 

“Ah,” Sam said, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry for not calling much, Bobby. I was pretty messed up.”

“And I wasn’t?” he grumbled. 

“So,” Sam said, turning back to Dean. “How’d you get out?” 

“Angel,” Dean said, pulling down his shirt just enough to show the top part of the handprint. To his surprise, Sam barely reacted. 

“I’ve been hearing rumors of angelic activity,” he said, nodding. “The demons are apparently up to something big. Something big enough that the angels are finally walking the earth again. I haven’t met one yet, though. I didn’t believe it for a long time, but there are too many signs to ignore.” 

“You _knew_ about this angel crap and didn’t tell me?” Bobby said. Sam looked sheepish again. 

“Demons up to something big?” Dean said. “Got any idea what?”

“No, that’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Sam said. “We wondered if it was something to do with you, but since you’re out now, maybe not.”

“Demonic omens have been everywhere lately,” Bobby mused. “More so than usual. Hard to keep track of ‘em all, almost.” 

Dean assumed that Cas must know about the demonic activity -- it was probably what the “work” they had for him was supposed to be. He supposed he was at least qualified for the job, though one had to wonder why the angels had gone to the trouble of getting him out of hell when there were plenty of hunters still alive who were also qualified. 

“So what’re you doing to stop them?” Dean said. “Ganking ‘em? You still got the knife?”

“And interrogating them, yeah, pretty much,” Sam said. “We’ve noticed things are scaling up recently, though. Not just the usual possessions and murders. They’re getting creative.” 

“That ain’t good,” Bobby muttered. “Other hunters have been saying the same type of thing.” 

“Well,” Dean said, smiling a little at the thought of being able to hunt demons again, to inflict some of the damage onto the demons that they had inflicted onto him. Last time he’d been topside, he’d always felt like the underdog in any given demon fight -- but let them try to fuck with him now. “I guess we got a lot of work to do, then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a proud member of the "let Dean say fuck" coalition.

Dean could not possibly identify the exact moment he had first picked up the knife in hell, but he knew that Castiel had first found him a few years after. 

At the racks, everything else disappeared except for the tortured soul, Dean, and whatever instruments Dean imagined up. The demons who had broken Dean were much, much more powerful, and had been able to conjure up whole worlds just to ruin Dean a little bit more, but for Dean (and most of the tortured souls), hell was just a hot, red bubble of blunt instruments and pain. Dean was somewhat grateful for the simplicity. It was easy enough to just pick up a knife and cut where he had been taught to cut, but to have to conjure up whole scenarios specifically to cause misery was a line he hoped he’d never be forced to cross. 

The days all bled into each other with no distinguishing features -- the concept that anyone in hell deserved a second’s break from the constant torture was a hilarious joke. Dean didn’t see anything but the rack and the flayed souls, didn’t feel anything but the feel of a weapon in his hands, for at least three years. 

But then, something happened. One of the souls on the rack spoke to him, spoke in words beyond the pleading cries he was used to. 

The body that a senior demon had put the soul in suddenly stiffened, its eyes lighting up blue. Dean stepped back reflexively, pointing the axe he was holding at it. Nothing like this had ever happened, and Dean didn’t know what the protocol was. Nor had he ever seen anything with eyes that color -- black and yellow, sure, but never such a glowing, celestial blue. 

The eyes returned to normal before Dean could decide if he had just been hallucinating them, and the soul turned to look right at him without fear. Something told Dean that the tortured soul was temporarily not the one in control of this vessel. 

“Hello, Dean,” the creature said, in a deep, euphonic voice. 

“What are you?” Dean said, still holding out the axe. It occurred to him that this was the first time he’d spoken aloud in years -- he found he didn’t need or want words to torment his victims. 

“I’m here with an offer,” it said. “I want you to stop lifting the blade to the souls here, and instead join me in fighting my way out of perdition.” 

“I said, _what are you?_ ” Dean said, moving forward to put the blade to the creature’s neck. 

“Is that not amenable to you?” it said, looking wholly unconcerned by the knife at its throat. If Dean wasn’t mistaken, the creature seemed a little sad, but not in the way souls in hell usually were -- it looked as if its hope had only just been crushed, rather than been annihilated years prior. 

“This is a trap,” Dean said. 

The creature sighed, and suddenly, Dean wasn’t standing by the rack anymore. Suddenly, he was standing in a lush forest, with huge, mossy tree trunks standing all around him and a little creek bubbling cheerfully a few steps away. The creature was there too, still in the borrowed body. 

“My name is Castiel,” he said. “I am an angel of the Lord, and I want to raise you from this place.” 

“Bull,” Dean said, looking around rapidly, searching for a crack in the visage that he couldn’t find. The trees really seemed to go on forever, no sign of hell anywhere to be found in them. 

“Do you really think so?” Castiel said, sounding slightly amused. “Which part of this strikes you as… bull?” 

“All of it,” Dean said. “You’re not an angel. There’s no such thing. And there’s no way out of here.” 

Castiel sighed. “Stand back,” he said. He stretched out his arms and began glowing, that same blue color as his eyes had been before, and in an instant, the body the demon had created was gone, and a massive, skyscraper-sized glowing… _thing_ was in its place. Dean stared, but staring didn’t help him understand what he was seeing, because nothing he was seeing made any sense. He tried to focus on one thing at a time, but then that one piece would spiral out of his vision somehow and he’d be unable to make it out. He thought he saw a few pairs of bird wings in the top right of the mass, but then they spiraled into something he couldn’t make out, and then that became a catlike figure, and then a hive of bees which transformed again into another form he couldn’t hope to put a name to. 

The glowing mass retracted quickly, back into the human form from the rack. Castiel brushed at something on his shoulder as if nothing had happened. 

“What,” Dean gasped. 

“That was my true form,” Castiel said. “Being in hell grants you a rare opportunity to see it. Normally, humans can’t ever see what you just saw.” 

“True form?” Dean said. 

“I am an angel, as I told you,” Castiel said. “But to easily communicate with you, or any other humans, I am forced to take a vessel, like this one. Though this one is… more temporary than most.” 

“Take a vessel? That just fancy words for demonic possession?” Dean said, but deep down, he was already convinced that Castiel wasn’t lying, not about the angel thing at least. What else could that gigantic apparition have possibly been? Dean had been hunting for a long time, and living in hell for a longer time, and he’d still never seen anything like it. 

“Normally the vessels have to offer permission,” Castiel said. “This being the realm of the damned, I was able to bend the rules and borrow this one, but I don’t have much time.” He stepped closer to Dean, looking deep into his eyes. Dean found himself unable to look away. “Will you join me in my escape?” 

Dean forced himself to take a breath, noticing as he did that the air around him, for the first time in decades, smelled clean and fresh and _good_. Castiel, his borrowed eyes so wide and pleading, seemed more sincere than anyone else he’d interacted with in his memory. Of course, it was still most likely that this was all a trap somehow, concrete-seeming evidence aside -- there was probably something about the whole situation that screamed “trap,” which Dean would look back on later and beat himself up for missing. But at that moment, it was hard to put too much stock into whatever that was. 

“You actually know a way out?” Dean said. 

“I’ve nearly found it,” Castiel said. “I will return to you soon. Keep your eyes out, and don’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself.” 

Dean blinked and the whole scene disappeared, Castiel and the forest and creek and the clean-smelling, humid air. All that was left was the same whimpering, broken soul that Dean had partially taken apart before Castiel possessed it. 

It was harder than usual to raise the blade to the soul now. Every time he did, Dean briefly imagined it was Castiel again, and then he was thinking about all that the angel had said, and wondering if it could possibly be true, if there was a way out. But hope didn’t live very long in hell, and good thing too, because Castiel had told Dean not to draw attention to himself, and nothing would be more suspicious than a broken man suddenly believing. So he stopped believing in Castiel, and when the angel did come back to him later, and then again, and again after that, he started and stopped believing in him every single time. 

~~~

Over his first few months of hunting with Sam again, Dean slowly came back to himself, or at least, enough to convince his brother that he was constantly improving. It had felt at first as though Dean was missing so many huge, key pieces of information about his past life that he would never be able to go back, but the longer he was on the road with his brother (and sometimes Bobby, and sometimes, unfortunately, Ruby), the more he started to feel as though he belonged again. 

Of course, there were a slew of difficult moments, especially at first. Like the first time they went up against a demon, and Sam looked on in shock as Dean stood his ground, frustrating the demon’s attempts to fuck him over and throw him against a wall thanks to the protective symbols stolen from hell tattooed on his arms. There was the time that Dean forgot himself after a different demon got a little too close to Sam, and Dean literally scalped the demon in a furious rage before they could even question it. There were all the times Dean turned down food, and drink, and sleep, and Sam looked sadly at him, somehow surprised anew every time. And worst of all, there was the time Sam casually mentioned that his birthday had been the previous day and Dean realized that he had completely forgotten the significance of the day. Sam didn’t understand why Dean was so upset by that, saying that they never really did much for birthdays anyway, but Dean felt worse than usual for the next week.

Sam also ended up causing his fair share of tense moments, surprisingly. The sparse, poorly fleshed-out Sam from Dean’s memories was basically a saint, hanging onto Dean’s every word, always making the morally correct decisions, and smarter than Dean, to boot. Dean had to wonder if his memory was faulty, or if Sam had just gotten stupider since Dean had been gone. The kid trusted Ruby to a truly incomprehensible degree, despite Dean’s constant dissent, and snuck out (presumably to see her) at least once a week. Arguably even worse than the sneaking and the lying was the fact that Sam was so bad at hiding it. Had he always been so transparent? 

There were also good moments, despite everything else. Dean occupied them hesitantly, knowing that the present version of himself fit into them like an incorrect puzzle piece, but never quite having the heart to point it out to anyone else. Like after their first hunt back together (a simple possession case, because Sam thought it was best for Dean to “ease back into it”), when Sam wordlessly got on the hood of the Impala after it was done and handed Dean a beer. Or the first time he made Sam laugh at something he did (Sam called it a “stupid prank”, but Dean had just been trying to leave his sandwich in a place he would be able to easily find it. So what if that place was the passenger seat of the Impala, where Sam sat unthinkingly and ruined his pants?). The good moments, luckily, lead to more good moments, as Dean slowly re-learned how he was supposed to act around people who cared about him. He was able to pass as good-natured again. He was good at talking to people on cases, for the most part. Sam looked at him like he was a kicked puppy a little less. 

Cas, who had never once looked at Dean like he was a kicked puppy, visited occasionally, most often to point him in the direction of a relevant case. Usually, they were just simple demon cases. Once, he tried to convince Dean to leave a town that was about to be terrorized by the demon Samhain, but Dean refused to leave the town’s occupants to get smote along with the demon. Cas looked relieved by his decision. Sam, who was out with Ruby while Cas was in, was shocked and offended both that Dean didn’t bother to introduce him to the angel and that Dean had the nerve to talk back to _an angel_. 

“It’s an _angel_ , Dean,” Sam said, for the upteenth time. “You can’t say no to an _angel_.” 

“Agreed,” Ruby said, looking like she was dying to get out of there. “We need to leave, like, yesterday.”

“He really said they’d smite the townspeople, too?” Sam said, looking worried. 

“Angels don’t care who they smite,” Ruby said. 

“I can’t believe you were rude to an angel,” Sam said. “Shouldn’t we try not to provoke it? Do you think it’s angry at you?”

“Nah,” Dean said with a smug grin. “He likes me. Now, we saving these townspeople or not?” 

The town ended up surviving, but Cas still seemed upset at how things had turned out. Dean pried a little, but Cas just shook him off and disappeared. 

Cas’s weird reaction aside, that had been a good day. Every time Dean managed to save someone, he felt like he was inching closer to evening the scale. He certainly wouldn't live long enough to actually atone for all the souls he'd damaged in hell, but as long as he was working on it, he was able to get through the day in one piece. So saving over a thousand people in one go let his conscious rest for a whole afternoon, during which he and Sam went to a pool hall (without Ruby, luckily), and dusted off their hustling skills. Sam had gotten much better during Dean’s time in hell. Dean had gotten much worse. 

Dean slept a whole six hours that night, six hours of formless horror that he forgot all details of as soon as he woke up. It was that way every night -- Dean had a hundred years of hell to dream about, after all, and whether or not he managed to fall asleep, he relived them every single night after the lights turned out. 

So it was that he spent his days on earth, and his nights in hell. 

~~~

A month or so after the Samhain incident, Castiel returned to talk to Dean, again while Sam was conveniently out with Ruby. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. He'd just been brushing his teeth, and put his toothbrush down and straightened up to meet the angel's eyes. “Got another town you’d like to smite?” 

Castiel took that insult with an almost imperceptible roll of his eyes. 

“On the contrary,” he said. “There is a demon on the loose that needs to be stopped.”

“Another average day, then,” Dean said, cracking his knuckles. 

“This is no average demon,” Cas said, breaking eye contact. “Dean, are you aware that the demon Lilith has died?” 

“Lilith?” Dean said, wondering if he was remembering correctly. “Like, sent-me-to-hell Lilith? The Lilith Sam's been trying to find for months?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “We have been trying to locate her for months, to no avail. Others in my garrison recovered her body last week.”

“She just dropped dead?” Dean said. “How?” 

“We would like to know that, as well,” Cas said. “The cause of death has been impossible to ascertain, but after investigation, we have a lead on who we believe did this.” 

“Great,” Dean said. “Let’s send them a fucking fruit basket.” 

“It was Alastair,” Cas said, looking up and fixing Dean with an icy stare, as though he knew exactly how Dean was going to react to that. 

“Alastair’s topside?” Dean said quietly. He felt as though his stomach had suddenly dropped several thousand feet. 

“Presumably,” Cas said. 

“Alastair killed Lilith?” Dean said. “Why?” 

“A good question,” Cas said. “We’re not sure of the answer. That’s why we need you.” 

“Hang on,” Dean said, walking away and putting a hand up. “I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer’s no.”

“You know him better than any other person we can call on,” Cas said, following him. “We can track him, but we can’t enter his lair, and we certainly can’t extract any useful information out of him. He’s warded everything against us, and if we attempted to torture him, we would risk killing him.”

“And that’s _not_ a good thing?” Dean said. “I’m sorry, I’m just struggling to understand why we’re upset that Lilith is dead and Alastair might accidentally get tortured to death?”

Cas pulled at Dean's arm and forced him to turn so that they were standing alarmingly close. He was still looking at him with that _glare_ . “High-powered demons rarely kill each other without reason,” he said slowly. “Of course we want the adversary dead, but we know they’re planning something, something significant enough that my kind has been ordered to walk the earth for the first time in centuries. But we don’t know _what_.” 

“Sounds like a big problem,” Dean said, turning away. “You guys should probably focus on that. I gotta go.”

“ _Dean,_ ” Cas snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him back towards him. Dean was pressed against his chest now, somehow forced to look _up_ into Cas’s eyes even though he _knew_ Cas’s vessel was shorter than him. “I know your soul. I know what you did in hell. I know you feel guilty about it. And I know that it wasn’t your fault, even though you can’t see that yet. You take guilt onto yourself that should be placed on this demon, Alastair."

"That's not true," Dean mumbled. 

"I don’t want you to do this," Cas continued. "In fact, I would give anything for you to _not_ do this, but nothing I have to give would allow you not to do this. So, please. Help me.” 

Dean wanted to say something snarky, something like _you don’t know me, buddy,_ but under Cas’s smothering gaze it was hard to get those words to come out of his mouth. He gulped.

“You really think Alastair is up to something big?” he finally said. 

“Yes,” Cas said, releasing his arm. 

“That does sound like him,” Dean conceded, rubbing his arm. Cas had a tight grip. “So, you know where this douche is at?” 

~~~

Dean pretended to discover the “case” to hunt Alastair on his own after Cas left and Sam and Ruby came back. Sam didn’t understand why they had to hunt Alastair, nor did he seem to have a good grip on who, exactly, Alastair was. But Ruby understood immediately, and tried to convince Sam that it was a bad idea to go after him. Hence, Dean and Ruby entered an awkward standoff in which they both pretended not to know the details of what was happening, as Sam wildly misinterpreted everything. 

“My powers _have_ been getting stronger,” Sam said to Ruby. “And you’re always telling me I need to practice.”

“Not on freakin’ Alastair!” Ruby said. 

“Your dumb little powers won’t work on Alastair,” Dean said dismissively. Sam was constantly bringing his "powers" up, and looking at Dean like he was expecting him to start yelling at him just for _speaking_ of them. Dean couldn’t imagine why. If hell had taught him anything, it was that you used every possible weapon available if you wanted to survive. And if the best weapon Sam had to offer was getting a nosebleed while staring at a demon, well, so be it. “They want me to do it.” 

“Why?” Sam said. Dean realized he’d said too much. “And who’s ‘they’?” 

“Dean knew Alastair in hell, that’s why it has to be him,” Ruby said smugly. “Right, Dean?”

“You shut up,” Dean said, pointing at her. “Sam, we’re taking this case. You should stay back and let me handle most of it, but we’re taking it.”

Ruby refused point-blank to go with them to hunt Alastair, which only sweetened the deal for Dean. Sam spent the entire drive over fretting about who this demon could possibly be and trying to guilt Dean into saying more, while Dean just constantly repeated “I don’t know, Sammy,” and “no, I _don’t_ remember hell, I don’t care what Random Demon Number Three said.” He felt a little bad about lying to Sam, but whenever he thought about trying to explain his memories of hell to Sam, his thoughts went red with panic. Nothing he could say would be eloquent enough to describe all that had happened while also not making Sam stop speaking to him. Nor could he say that Cas had told him to hunt Alastair, because that just led right back to that question of _why_ _Dean_.

It ended up being much too easy to find Alastair. He was sitting in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, cross-legged and with his hands clasped in what looked like a prayer. 

“Boys,” he said with a slight hiss, not looking up. “I’ve been waiting for you. What _ever_ took you so long?” 

Dean strode towards him with purpose, not wanting this to last any longer than it had to, but Alastair raised a hand and froze him in place. 

“Very cute that you think those little tattoos you stole would work on me,” he said, raising his head and smiling coyly. 

“Did you kill Lilith?” Dean asked, in a lower voice than usual. He tried to move his arms, but found that they were up against what felt like an invisible wall.

“Lilith is _dead_?” Sam said, spinning around angrily. “And you knew about it?”

“Why would I kill Lilith?” Alastair said, unfolding his crossed legs and getting to his feet slowly. Dean wasn’t sure if it was his vessel or his demonic essence that made everything he said sound so disgustingly flirtatious, even things that shouldn’t be. “She’s my superior.” 

“You have to tell me about these things, Dean,” Sam said, sounding exasperated. 

“Is now really the time for this conversation, Sam?” Dean said. 

“Though, I suppose, if I had a new superior who was due to come to town… well… that might be another story,” Alastair said, winking at Dean and heading casually towards Sam. Sam stiffened, as if only now realizing the gravity of the situation, and started trying to do his mind-control thing. He cleared his throat and stared Alastair in the eyes, holding his hand out and trembling with effort, but Alastair was completely unaffected. 

“Sam Winchester,” he said, licking his lips hungrily. “The things I’d do to you… but I can’t. It’s against orders.”

“Whose orders?” Dean said. The invisible wall hadn’t let up yet, but Dean was feeling more desperate to break free as Alastair got closer to his brother. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Alastair said, standing before Sam and giving him a once-over. “Ah, yes, I think this vessel will do quite nicely. Your temperament is _so_ like my new boss’s, you know. It’s really quite poetic how that happened.” 

Giving up on the mind-power bullshit, Sam reached out and plunged the demon knife into Alastair’s chest. Once again, it barely had an effect, though Dean did feel the wall holding him shudder a bit. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Alastair said, pulling out the knife. “We’re friends, Sammy, and friends don't stab friends. You just haven’t accepted it yet. But… you will.” 

“You’re insane,” Sam said. 

Dean found himself thinking of Ruby and wondering if that was actually the least insane thing Alastair had ever said. 

Alastair picked up one of Sam’s hands and kissed it, swiftly dodging Sam’s swinging fists. He geared up to kick him, but Alastair finally gave him the frozen treatment. 

“Don’t injure yourself, my Lord,” Alastair said. 

“Let me go,” Sam said through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, I will,” Alastair said, with mocking friendliness. “I just need to tear apart your brother real quick, and then we’ll go our own ways. Well, for now.” 

Sam shouted in frustration, clearly no longer used to demons using him as a toy after whatever “training” he had been doing with Ruby. Alastair turned back to Dean, licking his lips, and Dean felt his blood run cold, so cold that even the hot anger coursing through his veins was forced to take a backseat to fear. 

“So, Dean,” Alastair said. “Have you told Sammy over there about our time together yet? Sam doesn’t seem to want to be my friend, but does he know that _you_ took my offer with open arms?” 

Dean couldn’t bear to look at Sam, so he couldn’t tell if his brother was taking Alastair seriously or not. “Why did you kill Lilith?” he said again, in a careful monotone. 

“Oh, I dunno,” Alastair said. “Sometimes I just get these _sinful_ urges. You remember what that’s like, don’t you, _righteous man_?” 

Dean growled and pushed with all his strength against the wall. He could feel that it was weakening the longer Alastair talked, but not fast enough. 

“Who’s giving you orders not to hurt Sam?” Dean said. 

“I can’t seem to remember,” Alastair said, gazing dramatically off into the distance as if he were trying to recall. “Maybe if you had all your little tools, you could try to force me to remember, huh, Dean? But you don’t. Sad. Wasn’t life so much better back in hell?” 

Dean fought against his bindings as Alastair continued to ramble, taking a blunt silver knife out of his pocket and stroking it lovingly. 

“I don’t really want to kill you, Dean, you understand,” Alastair said. “You could have turned into something beautiful… but it’s my orders. So we may as well have some fun with this.” 

Dean gathered all the saliva in his mouth and spit on Alastair. 

“Some people prefer sharp blades,” Alastair said, thick spit dripping down his face. He didn't even bother to wipe it off. “I think blunt blades are so much more fun, though. Takes more time. Really lets you _savor_ it.” 

With a final burst of strength, Dean burst through the wall and sent himself flying into Alastair. His advantage was that Alastair was clearly not ready for the tackle, falling right over and taking Dean with him. His disadvantage was that Alastair played dirty and quickly had him pinned against the floor with the help of his demonic influence. He put the blunt blade to Dean’s throat. Distantly, Dean heard Sam yelling. 

“That was really cute, Dean,” Alastair said with a giggle. He pressed the blade harder, cutting off the oxygen to Dean’s brain. He wondered where he’d go when he died, again. Presumably back to hell, where he would get to enjoy another century of Alastair being a pain in his ass. 

He snapped out of his maudlin train of thought just long enough to throw Alastair off again and scramble free. He had gotten an idea -- a half-formed, mostly impossible idea. He needed to get outside. 

“Sam, run!” he shouted. As he peeled past Sam, his brother also broke free and followed after him. Alastair was strolling behind them, clearly considering running to be beneath him. 

“You can’t run for long, boys,” he said. “I’ll catch up. I always do.”

Dean shoved the warehouse doors open, and he and Sam came gasping back into the outdoors. 

“Cas!” Dean shouted, putting his hands on his knees and breathing hard. “You got your ears on, buddy?”

“What are you doing?” Sam said. “We need to run.” 

“No, we need to kill Alastair,” Dean said. “Cas!” 

The doors opened again, this time smashing against the warehouse walls without so much as a touch, and Alastair strode confidently through them. Sam started to say something, but Alastair just rolled his eyes and flung him against a nearby tree, where he slumped to the ground, knocked out. Dean heard something crack, and hoped Sam hadn’t broken anything major. 

“I just don’t get it,” Alastair said, advancing on Dean. “We were such good pals down under. Why’d you have to go and leave me?”

“Times change,” Dean said, backing up. He was essentially unarmed -- Sam still had the demon knife, not that it would have helped at all. 

“See, I don’t think they do,” Alastair said, grabbing his shirt and using it to pull Dean right up against his body. Before Dean could react, Alastair was shoving the blunt knife up under his ribcage with a force that should have been impossible, causing Dean to breathe in a painful, aborted gasp. 

“I’ll see you in hell, Dean,” Alastair said, a smarmy smile on his face. “We have so much to catch up on.” 

Dean collapsed to the ground in what would surely be his last act, keeping his eyes masochistically trained on Alastair’s smarmy face. Seconds ticked by, Dean's gaze growing foggy. There was a sudden crashing sound, one Dean barely registered, and Alastair's expression changed abruptly from smug triumph to what looked like actual fear. And before Dean could see anything more, blazing white light came rushing in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 will be up tomorrow or day after :)


	4. Chapter 4

Dean slept a long, dreamless sleep, his first one in years and years. He woke up feeling pleasantly groggy -- at least, until he noticed that Cas was sitting on the bed next to him, watching him quietly. He snapped up into a sitting position, blinking rapidly. 

“Did you sleep well, Dean?” Cas said. 

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his eyes surreptitiously. “Were you watching me that whole time? That’s kind of weird, dude. Men don’t watch other men sleep.”

“I’m not a man,” Cas said. “I’m a wavelength of celestial intent.” 

It was impossible to tell from his neutral tone if he was being serious or just fucking with Dean.

“That’s weirder,” Dean mumbled. He glanced around, registering that he was in a motel room with another, empty bed. “Is Sam around? What happened?” 

“Sam is meeting us here,” Cas said. “You were nearly dead, so I had to remove you from the scene and heal you before anything else. By the time I got back, Sam had gone.”

“Wait, you let Sam disappear?” Dean said. If he hadn’t felt awake before, he definitely did now. “Alastair got him?” 

“No,” Cas said. “He said his friend Ruby was nearby. She picked him up.” 

“Great,” Dean said, feeling only minimally relieved. “And Alastair?”

“He escaped as well,” Cas said. 

“Fuck,” Dean said. “I thought if I lured him out--”

“It was smart of you to lure him past the warding on the warehouse,” Cas reassured. “And it saved your life, in the end.”

“Eh,” Dean mumbled. “Rather him dead than me alive.”

“Dean,” Cas said with a long-suffering sigh. 

“I thought he had some big plan. And rather than stop the whole thing, you save one guy?”

Dean was aware that he should theoretically be grateful to Castiel for saving his life, again, but it was only a matter of time before Dean was dead and back in hell, anyways. Alastair, on the other hand… there was no telling what he would do while topside. Dean didn’t question for a second that Alastair would be able to make earth into its own hell, if given the time.

“Dean, I did _not_ raise you from hell just to have you go back,” Cas said firmly. He moved closer and bent his head, making eye contact with Dean. Dean wasn’t sure what Cas was hoping to find in his eyes, but it had to be something, because he was looking at him hard.

Dean looked away after a long moment and changed the subject. “So, I guess we still need to find Alastair, right? Do we know where he is now?” 

“He’s vanished, and yes, we should still find him,” Cas said. “Eventually. However, we have different priorities now. Sam told me about your conversation with Alastair, and I believe I know now why Lilith is dead, and what their plan is. My superiors... they seem to agree.” 

Immediately, Dean pictured Sam saying _and then Alastair said he knew Dean already, and they were friends? This means my brother tortured condemned souls in hell, right?_ He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his face neutral and his mind calm, though in truth he had no idea how he would be talking his way out of this one. 

“So what’s this plan, then?” Dean said. If the demons had some big plan, it couldn’t actually involve him, right? Maybe with all the fuss about the “plan,” they could conveniently skip past the part where Alastair and Dean knew each other. 

“There’s a lot to say,” Cas said. “I should wait until your brother gets here.” 

“He has to know about it?” Dean said, wary. Anything his brother got told would go straight to Ruby’s ears, and she could be passing information on to anyone. 

“It’s fairly serious, Dean. We will need his help,” Cas said, rubbing his temples with his fingers. Dean noticed that he looked exhausted, more exhausted than he’d ever seen the angel look. There was blood all over his trenchcoat, and a weariness in his expressions. 

“Are you okay, Cas?” Dean said, trying for a gentler tone. 

“Why are you asking me that? I’m not the one who almost died,” Cas said. “For the second time.” 

“Well, actually--”

“Don’t,” Cas said. “Just… it was jarring to watch you die. That’s all.” 

“Oh yeah,” Dean said, with a cocky smile. “I almost forgot. You _like_ me.” 

Cas rolled his eyes and went to lie down on Sam’s bed. “Just be quiet until Sam gets here.” 

“I thought angels didn’t sleep?” Dean said.

“I’m not sleeping, I'm in meditative prayer,” Cas said. “Fixing your lungs was taxing.”

Dean was tempted to tease him more, but the angel just looked so at peace, lying on the bed with all his clothes still on and his hands perfectly clasped over his chest. Plus, Dean was tired as well -- the sleep had restored his body, but he still felt like his brain hadn’t had a rest in forever. It was easier to just roll back over and fall asleep again. 

It had gotten dark by the time Sam and Ruby arrived. Disoriented and not used to afternoon naps, Dean struggled back into consciousness. Cas seemed to not have the same problem, snapping back up as if in an exaggerated wakefulness designed to mock Dean. 

“You’re Castiel, right?” Sam said as soon as he saw him, approaching the angel with an expression of awe. “We’ve never met in person. It’s such an honor…”

Dean cringed as Sam seemed to be attempting some kind of bow/handshake crossover. Castiel just looked at the offered hand in confusion, and Ruby rolled her eyes. Despite being out of hell for months now, Dean could still glimpse her true face whenever she made any facial expression besides her neutral one. It was always jarring, always reminding him that his brother’s judgement wasn’t necessarily sound at the moment. 

“And you’re Dean’s brother,” Cas said cooly. “You seem awfully close to that demon.” 

“She’s, um, helping,” Sam said. 

“Of course,” Cas said in a dead tone. Dean privately hoped Cas never used that tone on him -- he wasn’t usually intimidated by the angel, but then again, Cas typically didn’t speak to him with such a lack of inflection. 

“I should probably go,” Ruby said, one foot already back out the door. She had her gaze trained roughly on Cas’s hands, avoiding his eyes.

“No,” Sam said, reaching out to try to stop her. “Castiel said he had something important to tell us, right, Castiel?”

“You can tell me later,” Ruby said, slipping away. 

“Let her go, Sam,” Dean interjected. 

Sam opened his mouth as if to argue more, but closed it uselessly as he saw that Ruby was already gone. He turned to give Dean a once over. 

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” he said. “I thought Alastair had you for sure.” 

Dean shrugged. “Cas saved me.”

“Again,” Sam said, turning to Cas and trying to win him over with a smile. “We really owe you, man.” 

“Why would you owe me?” Cas said, brow furrowed in what looked like genuine confusion. “Dean is the one I saved.” 

Sam looked uncomfortable at that, so Dean interrupted. 

“Why don’t we hear this news that you wanted to tell us, huh, Cas?” he said, smiling encouragingly. 

Cas sighed, and moved to stand directly across from Dean and Sam. “You may want to sit down for this,” he said, gesturing at the bed. 

Sam gave Dean a look like _who_ is _this weird dude?_ and Dean gave him a look like _just be quiet and let him do whatever he’s doing_ . Cas was pacing a little, a shockingly human act that contrasted with his stiff posture and ever-present, perfectly ironed suit and trench coat. Sometimes, when Dean closed his eyes too hard, he could still remember Cas’s true form that he’d glimpsed in hell, could still almost see the outline of his massive form and could feel the innate power that had radiated from it, now radiating from his new vessel, so obviously _there_ that Cas could never be mistaken for a regular human. But when he wasn’t thinking so much, and when Cas was with him in some quiet moment, like this one, Dean couldn’t feel his power, and almost forgot who he was really talking to. 

How distant from humans were angels, anyways?

“We rescued Dean from hell because we had work for him,” Cas began. “I wasn't told much. I wasn’t sure what exactly the nature of the work was. My superiors in heaven certainly knew more, but even they didn’t have the details of the coming storm. We just knew the demons were planning something big, and Dean needed to be on earth again.”

“Demonic plans, like what Ruby has been talking about,” Sam prodded. “Me and her, and now Dean, have been trying to stamp out all the unusual activity we’ve been noticing.” 

“Such as Samhain’s rising,” Cas nodded. “The town where half the people were infected with Croatoan. The killing of the reapers. Unusual possessions. Lilith’s death. All the strange astrological omens.”

Sam nodded. 

“Did you ever figure out why all of that was happening?” Cas asked. 

“Is it not just demons being demons?” Dean said, feeling a compulsive need to try to lighten up the situation even though it was glaringly obvious that the situation was not light and could not possibly be. 

“No,” Cas said, training that serious gaze on Dean, now. Dean swallowed, hard. “The demons have raised Lucifer. All of those strange happenings were to break the seals of the cage that held him in hell.” 

“What?” Dean said. “ _Lucifer_? Don’t tell me Lucifer exists.”

Beside him, Sam was gaping and quiet.

“I exist,” Cas said, voice tinged with a hint of dark humor. “Lucifer is an angel as well. If I exist, so should he.” 

“We would have heard about him by now though, right?” Dean said. “I mean, I’ve _been to hell._ And I didn’t see him, or hear of him? If it was this easy to raise Lucifer, why did it take so long?” 

“I don’t know,” Cas said, turning away. “As I said, I’m not told much. As far I understand it, there were some complicated prophecies that had to be fulfilled before the first seal could be broken. But every seal after that was relatively easy. My brothers in the garrison did their best, but we didn’t even know about the seals until half of them were already gone. The last seal was Lilith’s death.” 

“Oh, phenomenal,” Dean said, snorting. “You’re telling me we could have stopped this, but now it’s too late and fucking _Lucifer_ is on the loose?”

“I’m sure we couldn’t have stopped it, Dean,” Sam said, breaking his silence with a grim, toneless voice. “If the angels couldn’t…”

“Sure we could have,” Dean said. “Put Lilith in a Devil’s trapped coffin and throw her into the middle of the Pacific. Good luck killing an immortal demon who’s at the bottom of the ocean. Problem solved.” 

“It’s too late for this kind of talk,” Cas said, waving dismissively. “Lucifer has risen, and he will bring with him the end of days. The angels will oppose him, but we fear insurgence within our ranks. Lucifer can be very convincing, and many of my brothers and sisters have died in battle already. The end is nigh.” 

“Such the optimist, Cas,” Dean said. “There must be some kind of hope, right? Or else why bother to tell us?” 

“Are we sure he’s out of hell already?” Sam interjected. 

“Alastair’s words to you made us almost certain,” Cas said. “Alluding to a new ruler of hell, coupled with Lilith’s death and the slew of omens, make us sure that it has come to pass.” 

“Alastair made it sound like it was _me,_ ” Sam said. “That I would be the one to take over hell.” 

“And he’s so trustworthy,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. 

“That was, admittedly, puzzling,” Cas said. 

Call Dean a skeptic, but Cas didn’t sound very puzzled at all. He made a mental note to ask about it next time he spoke to Cas alone. 

“How many of the demons do you think know about this?” Sam asked. “Is this what they’ve been working towards this entire time? Even the minor ones?” 

“We believe the demons Azazel, Lilith, and Alastair were most instrumental in bringing this about,” Cas said. “They are Lucifer’s most devoted followers. I don't know about the rest.” 

“What can we do about it, Cas?” Dean said. “Why are you telling us about this?” 

“Right now, there’s nothing concrete that can be done,” Cas said, still pacing slightly. “Though I imagine your caseload is about to sharply increase. We are almost certain that Lucifer has not found his vessel yet, and as he is an angel, he cannot enter one against his host’s will, so that may buy us some time. But even without a vessel, Lucifer’s rising will certainly bring about more demonic activity than ever seen before. It’s said that he’s trying to weaponize the tortured souls in hell and use them as quasi-demons. And that is just the beginning.” 

“Great,” Dean said. “Demon ghosts. Sounds like fun.” 

“Another thing,” Cas said. “Other angels are coming to earth already, and their numbers will only increase. I would advise you to be wary of any besides me.” 

“Throwing your own kind under the bus there, Cas?” Dean said with a low whistle. 

“No,” Cas said. “But most angels aren’t so sympathetic towards a boy with a demon best friend and demon blood in his own veins.”

“Point taken,” Dean said.

Sam barely reacted, and Dean found himself wondering what the hell was going on with his brother. Normally Sam wasted no opportunity to get mad at anyone who implied he was _different_. 

“I should leave now,” Cas said, eyeing the door with a slightly panicked glimmer in his eyes. “I’ve been gone too long already. But I can ward you against any other angels with Enochian symbols, if you'd like.”

“Oh,” Dean said, and held out his arms. “By all means.” 

Cas ignored his arms and pressed a hand firmly on the center of his chest, and Dean felt a searing, cutting pain down the sides of his ribs. The sensation was gone in a second, and Dean lifted his shirt to see inked symbols he couldn’t recognize going down the sides of his torso. Cas offered the treatment to Sam as well, seemingly as a second thought, and Sam nodded without making eye contact.

Cas disappeared in a flapping sound without saying another word. 

“Well,” Dean said, looking over at Sam. “This is a lot, even for us, huh?” 

“You can say that again,” Sam said. 

Dean waited to see if Sam was going to say anything else, but he just got up silently and went to the bathroom, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. He supposed that since it was night, he should try to sleep, but he couldn’t imagine sleeping after hearing that _Lucifer_ might be back. If anything, it was surprising that Sam seemed to be attempting normalcy.

Sam reappeared after a quick shower, sticking his head out the door with a toothbrush in his mouth.

“You really trust that angel,” he said. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean said, surprised by the statement. “He saved me, twice.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“You trust a demon!” Dean said. “That’s much worse.” 

“Or better,” Sam said. “Because I could kill her the second she betrayed me, but this angel could be betraying you as we speak, and we have no idea how to stop it. We have no idea if it even _can_ be killed.” 

“What happened to the whole ‘we owe you’ spiel?” Dean said. “I thought we appreciated Cas for bringing me back to life? And by the way, what has Ruby done, besides promising you she’d stop me from going to hell and then _not doing that_? Why does she deserve your trust?” 

Sam scoffed. “You don’t understand Ruby, and you’ve never even tried to.” 

“Well, I could say the same about you and Cas,” Dean said. 

“I just think it’s a pretty interesting coincidence that angels return to earth for the first time in centuries, apparently, and at that same moment, Lucifer just so happens to rise, Dean,” Sam snapped.

“Because there’s a fucking apocalypse, that’s why they’re back,” Dean said. “And look, I can’t speak for any of the other angels, but as for Cas, man, there’s nothing to worry about. Dude’s all bark and no bite.” 

“He hid us from the other angels!” Sam said, gesturing to his ribs. “Why would he do that?” 

“Because I spent a century in hell and you’re fucking a demon?” Dean suggested. “We’re not exactly heaven’s favorite people.” 

Sam blinked. “You didn’t spend a century in hell,” he said slowly. 

“Right,” Dean said, remembering himself. “I was exaggerating.” 

“It didn’t sound like you were,” Sam said. Dean didn’t like the prying way he was looking at him, as if he was seeing all the feebly constructed lies falling down and wondering how they hadn’t fallen down so much sooner. 

“Just give it a rest, Sammy,” Dean said, going to lie in the bed and turning away pointedly. Sam stood where he was for a few moments before realizing that Dean wasn’t going to move or say anything else. Dean heard him redress and leave the room, shutting the door heavily behind him. 

~~~

They didn’t discuss the fight again. Castiel had been right, anyways -- there were so many cases to take that Bobby couldn’t keep up, calling them before they’d even wrapped up a single case, and often sending them each off on different cases. Between the caseload and the continuing nightmares about hell, Dean didn’t feel a moment of rest for the next month. 

One night, after Dean had just finished a case in rural Georgia, he received a distraction in the form of a phone call. He had been hovering unpleasantly on the edge of sleep for a few hours, so reached out quickly to answer with only mild annoyance. 

“It’s fucking one AM,” Dean said, intentionally making it sound like he had just woken up so that if it was a telemarketer they’d feel bad. 

“No, it’s Castiel,” Cas said, the phone making his voice sound even deeper and more crackly than usual. 

“Oh, god,” Dean said, sitting up. “Who gave the angel a phone?”

“The man at the gas station said that if I put coins into the payphone I could reach you,” Cas said, confusion in his tone. “Where are you?” 

“Uh, Smith motel, off the I-75 in Georgia,” Dean said, and no sooner had he finished his sentence then Cas appeared, alarmingly close to him. 

“The tattoos work,” he said, barely a breath away. If Dean swayed even an inch forward, their noses would touch. “I couldn’t find you.” 

“Hurray,” Dean said. 

“I suppose,” Cas said. Maybe it was Dean’s imagination, but Cas’s gaze seemed to be trained down slightly, eyeing his lips. 

“Uh, Cas?” Dean said, clearing his throat quietly. “Usually people don’t stand this close to each other.” 

“Oh,” Cas said, stepping back. “My apologies.” 

“It just usually has a different implication,” Dean tried to explain. 

“Implications of intercourse,” Cas supplied. “I’ve heard.” 

“Sure,” Dean said, clearing his throat again. “So, uh, why are you calling me?” 

“I need your help,” Cas said. 

This was beginning to seem a bit like the beginning of a bad porno. 

“I’m looking for God,” Cas continued, without a trace of irony. 

“You’re looking for _who_?” Dean said, the illusion immediately shattered. 

“God,” Cas said. “He isn’t in heaven, I am almost certain. So, he must be here somewhere.” 

“Great,” Dean said. “Tell him to go fuck himself when you find him.” 

“Dean,” Cas pleaded. “Did I not tell you that Lucifer had been freed? I thought I didn’t need to say that this is bad, _very bad_. He will raze the world, Dean. He will burn heaven down.”

“I get that,” Dean said. “But you made it sound like the angels had some sort of plan, right? What happened to the plan?” 

“I found out what the plan is,” Cas said, looking away. “It’s not good, their plan. We need another one. So, we find God, and get him to stop Lucifer.” 

“Find God is plan B?” Dean said. “I would have thought there would be at least one more plan before fucking _God_ comes in. What’s plan A, anyways?” 

“Will you help me, or not?” Cas said. He was sounding more and more stressed the longer he talked. “The other angels don’t understand why I oppose the plan. They grow tired of me… I stand out too much. I cannot make them help me. And there’s certainly no one else I can go to.” 

Dean sighed. “Yeah, all right. I’ll help you. Of course.” 

“Excellent,” Cas said, getting up to leave. 

“Wait,” Dean said. “This isn’t happening _now,_ right? I just got off a case, man.” 

“Oh.” Cas said. “No, it’s not. I’ll call you again in a few days. The first step will be to find the archangel Gabriel, who I believe is also disguised on earth. I found traces of him, but you’re not needed until I close in further. He is one of the few angels who have actually seen God, so I believe he will be useful to speak with. If not extremely frustrating.” 

“Wait, _you_ haven’t met God?” Dean said. “Isn’t he, like, your dad?”

“He did create us,” Cas said. “But most of us never receive proof of his existence, beyond our own existence. We only have our faith.” 

“I didn’t know that, Cas, that sucks,” Dean said lamely. “Talk about an absent father.” 

“Perhaps,” Cas said. There was an awkward moment of silence, and then he disappeared with a soft flapping sound. 

Dean rolled his eyes and tried again to chase down some sleep. 

~~~

Days passed, days in which Dean only existed during the brief periods of time he had to talk to people for cases. He snapped into reality just long enough to charm the people he needed to charm, and then he snapped right away the second he was alone again, going back to hell in his mind. He barely stopped moving, going from one case to the next without bothering to keep anyone up to date on his position, taking out demons and the like without blinking. The moments of silence and stillness were rare and short, but each one still felt a century long while he was in them. 

Anticipating a call from Cas, Dean kept an eye on his phone, but unfortunately the next person to call him was his brother, not Cas. 

“Hey,” Sam said, sounding as though he was only half-paying attention. “Me and Ruby are in northern California. We’re not really sure what we’re seeing, but we think we could use some backup. Got a whole army of demons, looks like.” 

“Sounds rough,” Dean said. “You called Bobby yet?” 

“No, I was hoping you could come help,” Sam said. 

“Probably shouldn’t,” Dean said. “Just picked up a case in Tennessee. Looks like some of those ghost-demons Cas was warning us about.”

“You don’t think ghost-demons can take a backseat to a whole demon army?” Sam said, sounding a little incredulous. 

“The ghost-demons can still kill people,” Dean said. “That not glamorous enough for you?” 

“No, it’s not that,” Sam said. “I guess… I guess I’m just used to you wanting to back me up when things get dangerous, that’s all.” 

“What am I, your personal attack dog?” Dean said.

He was mad all of sudden, mad that Sam had just expected him to pick up where they left off before hell, mad that Sam couldn’t understand that things could change, mad that Sam had been choosing a demon over him this entire time all while trying to make it Dean’s fault. He hadn’t called Sam in days by this point, and now that he was finally talking to him, he was longing to be alone again for some reason. How he could be lonely in one moment and furious at his brother the next, Dean wasn’t sure, but he was feeling an unignorable urge to burn it all down, to make Sam as mad as possible. 

“No, what the hell, Dean?” Sam said. “You’re not an attack dog, you’re my brother. I thought.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m your brother, and I thought we both were on the same page that we’re hunters, and we try to get as many of the bad guys as possible. Is that not the situation?” Dean said, pulling out the knife he always kept on hand and flipping it in his hand rapidly.

“You don’t sound like yourself, Dean,” Sam said. “What’s going on?”

“I told you. A hunt in Tennessee,” Dean said. He lost hold of the knife, and it skimmed his leg, drawing blood. He barely felt it. “And after that I promised Cas I’d help him with something.” 

“Oh, the truth comes out,” Sam said, bitchy tone audible even over the phone. “You can’t help me because all of a sudden Cas is more important.” 

“Wow, you’re mad that I have a friend besides you?” Dean said. “Pretty rich coming from Ruby’s little bitch boy.” 

“You know Dean, you always tease me about my relationship to Ruby, but I could say the same shit about you and Cas,” Sam said. “But I don’t, because I’m trying to be nice.” 

“ _This_ is you trying to be nice?” Dean said, stabbing the knife into the table he was sitting at. The wood was old and crappy, splintering readily into a large, jagged divet. “God, my memory of you was _so_ wrong.” 

“What do you mean, your _memory_ of me?” Sam said. “Look, I know there’s a lot you’re not telling me, and I don’t want to pry, but it’s also really difficult when you constantly lie to me and act like this.” 

“I don’t lie to you,” Dean lied. 

“Really? What happened in hell, then, Dean?” Sam said. 

“Why would you want to know about hell?” Dean said, widening the pit he’d made in the table. “Hell is hell. The place sucks ass. You want to hear me complain about how I was trapped in a place that sucked ass for a hundred years?” 

“There it is again,” Sam said. “You said you were in hell for a hundred years before, but that makes no sense, Dean. It was ten months.”

“Okay, fine,” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender though Sam couldn’t see him. “Time in hell moves differently than on earth, and for me, ten months was a hundred years. You happy to know that? Are you glad you forced me to tell you that? I’m 129 years old, and now _you_ get to know about it, hurray for you!” 

“Dean, that’s not what I meant by it,” Sam said. 

“Oh really?” Dean said. “Did you also mean something different by befriending a demon? Am I wrong about your meaning there too?” 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said. “I’m trying to help you, but you seem like you don’t want to be helped by me right now.” 

“I don’t know how the fuck you think you can help me,” Dean said. “You can’t magically erase hell, so what can you do to help? Nothing.” 

Sam was silent for a while. Dean was still too keyed up to care, blood coursing through his veins faster than usual. The audacity of Sam to believe that he could “help,” to believe that he could erase a hundred years with a simple talk -- Dean wanted to punch him in the face, but he couldn’t, because Sam was currently in northern California with a demon, a demon he trusted more than his own brother. 

“Okay,” Sam finally said. “I think we should take some time apart from each other for a little bit.” 

“What, you tired of me third wheeling your demonic honeymoon?” Dean jeered. 

“I’m trying to do what you seem to want,” Sam said, hanging up before Dean could say anything else.

Dean swore to himself and threw his phone across the room, breaking it against the motel wall. It was stupid to throw a phone against a wall, stupid and pointlessly destructive, but then again, so was life, so why should Dean fight the urge to destroy? He’d fought it for his entire past life, and he’d gone to hell for all his troubles. 

Catching his distorted reflection in the window, Dean suddenly felt the urge to change his face, change his hair, change his clothes -- change, change, change. He swallowed the urge and stormed out to deal with the demon ghosts instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 will be posted tomorrow!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5x03 slapped but it could have slapped so much harder

It turned out that the only way to handle the demon ghosts was to exorcise them, which would have been all well and good if they would have all just let themselves be herded into the giant devil’s trap Dean had made. Unfortunately, the demon ghosts seemed to delight in hiding in the most random of places, just out of range of where they’d be affected by an exorcism, and then jumping out and trying to kill Dean again just after he thought he’d finally gotten them all. Dean had gone through four rounds of exorcisms when Cas appeared, grabbing a ghost Dean had missed by its incorporeal hand and smiting it. 

“Thanks,” Dean said, panting slightly. 

“I found Gabriel,” Cas said, apropos of nothing. “Two hours from here. We need to attempt to entrap him tomorrow, before he moves on.” 

“Great,” Dean said, looking around the destroyed church. “You think we’re done here?” 

Cas briefly disappeared. Dean heard a smashing sound, then a demonic scream, and Cas reappeared. 

“You missed two,” he said. 

“I was getting to them,” Dean grumped.

“We need to approach the area by car, if possible,” Cas said, mind clearly far from the demon ghosts. “And we cannot do anything suspicious, lest Gabriel will notice too soon and smite us both.”

“Seems dramatic,” Dean said. “Aren’t we all on the same side, here? Why kill us?”

“Archangels are a different species entirely,” Cas said. “Imagine if an ant tried to trap you. Would you not squash it, regardless of what ‘side’ it was on?” 

Dean shrugged. 

“We should go,” Cas said, disappearing. Dean did a last sweep of the area, picking up a few weapons the demon ghosts had flung away from him, and headed to the impala. Cas was already in the passenger seat, tapping impatiently on the windowsill. 

“Why so tense, Cas?” Dean said, starting up the engine and pulling out onto the road. 

“I’m not supposed to be doing this,” he said after a brief silence, looking down as if in shame. “I have my orders, and finding God is not one of them.”

“Ah,” Dean said, understanding. If there was one thing he could relate to, it was disobeying stupid orders and suffering the consequences. “Well, if it’s any consolation, this seems like the right thing to do, right? So... that’s good?” 

“The right thing to do is starting to seem more and more impossible,” Cas said, sounding frustrated. “I am beginning to understand humans more. From heaven, it all seems so obvious. On earth, nothing really is, is it? Smiting the town where Samhain was raised, that would have been the right thing to do, because it would have stopped that seal from breaking, and perhaps Lucifer would still be in the cage. But it was also the wrong thing to do, because then those people would have all died.”

“Well, welcome to life on earth,” Dean said, trying for a light tone. “Worse than heaven, better than hell. That’s our whole thing, right?” 

Cas shook his head. “You knew that it was wrong to smite the town,” he said, turning to Dean with pleading eyes. “You were so sure. How?”

“Well, the people in the town would have died if I hadn’t stopped you,” Dean said. 

“But now untold quantities of people will die, thanks to Lucifer,” Cas said in distress. “We _must_ be successful tomorrow.”

“We will be,” Dean said. “We just need to trap and interrogate Gabriel, right? That seems…” He trailed off, not quite able to lie and say it would be easy. 

“Our death is almost certain,” Cas admitted grimly. “I apologize for soliciting your help in this death mission, Dean. I see now that it was wrong of me to condemn you to the same fate as I.”

The passenger side mirror gently imploded at that, as if Cas’s guilt wasn’t already obvious enough. 

“Hey, Cas, I go on death missions all the time,” Dean said, forcing himself to ignore the damage to his car for now. “This is just another Thursday for me, all right?” 

Cas didn’t seem all too comforted by the sentiment.

They drove mostly in silence for another hour, until they pulled into the town where Cas had found Gabriel. Dean got them checked into a motel, while Cas disappeared and reappeared with a large crate of “supplies,” which he set down in the middle of the room. 

“Here's what we will use tomorrow,” Cas said. “Holy oil, which I retrieved from Jerusalem last week. Spray paint, to ward the building. All of the materials needed for the summoning spell. As Gabriel is currently in this town, it should be a more potent spell than usual.” 

“Great,” Dean said. “Anything else we need to do to prepare?” 

He was trying to keep a positive attitude for the angel, and found it strangely easier than trying to do the same for Sam. There was just something about Cas -- his innocence, maybe, or his persistent belief that he should do “the right thing” -- that made Dean genuinely want to make him happy. It didn’t feel like a duty, or a burden -- it felt like a choice. Plus, Cas had never known Dean before hell, so there was less pressure to pretend to be his old self. He could just be.

“No,” Cas said, sighing. “Nothing else will help us tomorrow.” 

“Great,” Dean said. “So we can do whatever we want, right? We should do something fun if we’re going on a death mission tomorrow. What do you want to do?” 

Cas looked at him blankly. “I was planning to just sit here.” 

“Oh, dude, come on, it’s our last night on earth,” Dean said. “You _do_ know how to have fun, right? I know you’re an angel, but you’ve let loose once or twice in your life, right? You’ve been alive a fucking millennium.”

“Actually, I’ve been alive significantly longer than a millennium,” Cas said. 

“And in that time you’ve… gotten drunk. Gotten stoned. Had sex. Right?” Dean pleaded. 

Cas just sighed again. 

“Oh, come on,” Dean said, exaggerating in attempt to distract the angel from his melancholic state. Cas had smiled only a few times in Dean’s presence, and if they were both about to die, Dean was determined to not go out without getting a few more smiles out of him, and maybe even a laugh. “I’m not going to let you die without experiencing all the vices earth has to offer. Let’s go out.” 

Cas let himself be dragged out of the motel room and onto the sparsely populated streets of the town. There wasn't much to see, but luckily, after a few minutes of walking, a mostly-empty bar appeared, run-down and with half its sign missing, but still unmistakably open. 

“You’re not going to spontaneously combust if you drink alcohol, right?” Dean said, leaning in to say it quietly. “Like, you can enter this bar?” 

“Yes, Dean, I, a twenty-story celestial being, can safely enter a roadside bar,” Cas said. 

“That’s the spirit,” Dean said, patting him on the back. 

“Much of what humans consider to be sinful is not inherently bad, you know,” Cas said thoughtfully, pushing the door open. An ancient-looking bell chimed as they entered the bar. “Nor am I a paragon of good, myself. I can err just as you can. In fact, my errors tend to be more severe, as my power is greater.” 

“That’s why you need alcohol,” Dean said, getting the attention of the bored-looking bartender and ordering a pitcher of beer. He steered them towards a corner booth and sank into it, Cas taking the seat across from his a little more tentatively. The bartender dropped the pitcher of beer off with hardly a second look.

“Alcohol helps you forget the things you’ve done wrong,” Dean continued, nudging the pitcher towards Cas. 

“Perhaps I will enjoy it, then,” Cas said, regarding the pitcher. Dean watched as the angel tentatively reached a hand out to grab the handle, picked it up, and put it to his lips. He began gulping down the beer enthusiastically, spilling some on his otherwise immaculately pressed suit. Dean tried to hold back his laughter, but found that fighting it only made the situation funnier. 

“What?” Cas said, putting the empty pitcher down. He had downed the entire thing in less than ten seconds, by Dean’s count. “Why are you laughing?” 

“Nothing,” Dean said, choking on air. “It’s just… nothing.” 

“Oh, did you want some?” Cas said. “I apologize. I will get some more.” 

“No, no, champ, you just stay right there,” Dean said, swinging himself back out of the booth. He ordered an entire bottle of the cheapest whiskey they had, and another pitcher of beer for himself. 

“You drunk yet?” Dean said, returning to the table. 

“Does being drunk feel the same as being sober, except you’re sitting in an uncomfortable chair?” Cas asked, squinting thoughtfully. 

“No,” Dean said, pushing the bottle of whiskey towards him. “Here, try something with a little more of a punch to it.” 

They ended up staying at the bar much longer than Dean had assumed they would. Cas made it through three bottles of whiskey before he finally loosened up and started laughing along with Dean’s bad jokes, and Dean finished an entire pitcher of beer himself, along with a few shots of the whiskey. They decided it was time to leave when their laughter began to attract somewhat negative attention from the bartender and the few other patrons. 

“So,” Dean said, once they got back to the motel. He was feeling light and happy, as if nothing he could possibly say would be wrong. “You seriously haven’t had sex before?” 

“No, Dean,” Cas said, taking off his shoes clumsily. Dean couldn’t help but stare a little at the angel’s socked feet -- he’d never seen him even slightly undressed before. “The situation never arose.” 

“In several millennia, the situation never arose,” Dean scoffed. “You gotta _make_ the situation arise, if you catch my drift.” 

“I don’t catch your drift, no,” Cas said, loosening his tie. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were crinkled in the lasting smile of the very intoxicated, and his tone of voice was somehow lower and more alluring than usual. He had never seemed more human than he did in that moment, with his socked feet on the dirty motel floor, two layers of jackets discarded, and his drunken hands trying to pull off his tie. 

“Well,” Dean said, his voice catching in his throat just slightly. “Uh, are angels… gay, or…” 

“Are you trying to ask me if I’m attracted to men or women?” Cas said. He was only messing up his tie further, the more he tried to pull it off, and Dean compulsively reached out and untied it for him, letting the straps drop back on his chest. 

“I guess,” Dean said.

“Truthfully, it doesn’t matter to me,” Cas said. 

“Oh,” Dean said. “I like both, as well.” Internally, he cringed at his awkward phrasing, but most of his mental power was still focused on the fact that he was suddenly standing very close to Cas, so close that he could feel the warmth emanating from his body. 

“But like I said,” Cas said. “The situation hasn’t arisen, so I suppose…” He took an audible breath, glancing down at Dean’s lips in an unmissable tic. “I suppose I don’t know for sure.” 

“I see,” Dean said softly. “Well, look. I said I wouldn’t let you die a virgin, and I meant that.” 

“Okay,” Cas said quickly.

“Okay what?” Dean said. 

“Okay, I don’t want to die a virgin,” Cas said, looking at him determinately. “But you should know. You are the only human I have ever been interested in having sex with.” 

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean said. He hadn’t thought it would be that easy -- but then again, a lot of things seemed to be surprisingly easy with Cas.

“Is that bad to say?” Cas said, taking a tiny step forward and looking deeper into Dean’s eyes. 

“Nah,” Dean said, looking right back. “It’s just… I guess I’m used to being the one saying that line.”

The eye contact lasted a moment longer, tension in the air thick. Then, in a coordinated movement, Dean reached out to pull Cas towards him just as Cas surged upwards and connected their lips. Dean groaned involuntarily as Cas’s entire body pressed against his, whether due to a drunken lack of coordination or a need to be close, he couldn’t say. 

Cas kissed like a person who had never done it before, at first, but he quickly picked up on Dean’s cues and opened his mouth, letting Dean plunge his tongue into his mouth with all the sloppiness and lack of finesse of a sincerely drunk person who had been thinking about his partner’s mouth for a long time, if he was honest with himself. Cas reached up, running his hands through Dean’s hair in a desperation that mirrored Dean’s own. 

Angels had no need for breath, apparently, but Dean quickly ran out of breath, pulling back and panting embarrassingly. Cas didn’t waste a second, moving his mouth to the side of Dean’s neck and sucking, so suddenly that Dean involuntarily let out a moan. When was the last time someone had bothered to kiss his neck? It had been over a century, he was sure, and he had forgotten that he even had nerve endings there, had forgotten that it could feel good. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said, pulling gently at his hair. “That’s amazing.” 

“Really?” Cas said, leaning back to look Dean in the eyes. Dean noted with satisfaction that his pupils were dilated, and though he didn’t need oxygen, he was also panting slightly, perhaps on a forgotten human instinct. 

“Really,” Dean said, bowing to put his own lips to Cas’s neck. Cas smelled amazing, which Dean had never had occasion to notice before. He wondered how long had Cas smelled amazing. 

“Oh,” Cas said in a small voice, knees buckling slightly. “I understand.” 

“Yeah?” Dean said, laughing a little. He steered Cas towards the bed, and felt grateful that they’d gotten a room with one big bed (Cas had claimed he wouldn’t be sleeping). Cas let Dean fall on top of him and press their lips back together, gentler this time, trying to show the angel that he had some technique beyond a desperate exchange of saliva. Cas matched his gentler pace, his hands wandering as if in attempt to touch Dean in every place possible. Dean indulged the urge, sitting back and pulling off his shirt. 

“Dean,” Cas said, a slightly glazed look in his eyes. “You’re so beautiful… body and soul.” He put a hand beneath Dean’s shoulder and flipped him easily, so that he was pressed firmly against the shitty motel mattress.

“Wow, Cas,” Dean said. “I mean, you too, but maybe we need to work on lightening up your dirty talk a little.” 

“Shut up,” Cas growled, pressing his lips back against Dean’s. Dean slid his hands down Cas’s back, trying to be subtle as he encouraged the angel to press against him, to grind against him. He was hard, he had been nearly since he’d first touched Cas, and now he realized the angel was as well. It made no sense that Cas, a multidimensional being, could participate in something so human as sex, but then again, it also made no sense that Dean Winchester had walked straight out of hell and back into life, so Dean supposed that in a certain way it _did_ actually all make perfect sense.

They made out for a while longer, rolling around on the bed like teenagers who didn’t know or care to do anything else, before Dean decided to take matters into his own hands. 

“Lie down,” he said softly. Cas protested at first, but seemed to understand when Dean bent to slowly unbutton each button on his dress shirt, looking into his eyes as he moved lower and lower. With his other hand, he reached down to the bulge in Cas’s slacks. 

“Dean,” Cas said, twitching slightly. 

“You’ve never done this, have you?” Dean said, beginning to gently jack Cas through the thin fabric of his pants. “Never jacked off?” 

“I told you, I never needed to,” Cas said, shrugging impatiently out of his shirt. 

“But now you do,” Dean said. 

Cas looked away. 

“You do,” Dean said, leaning to kiss his abdomen. The angel was toned and well-muscled, whether because Cas did a lot of physical activity or because his vessel had, Dean wasn’t sure. 

“Yes,” Cas said, looking embarrassed. 

“Hey,” Dean said, surging up to kiss him again. Cas kissed back enthusiastically, evidently enthusiastic to participate in something he now knew how to do. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s hot.” 

“Whatever you say,” Cas mumbled. 

“Lay back,” Dean said again, sinking down to the other man’s waistline. He unbuttoned Cas’s slacks, maintaining eye contact the entire time, and pushed them down slightly. Cas kicked them all the way off, still eyeing Dean like he was both apprehensive and needy -- so, so needy. Dean palmed at him through his boxers for a moment, and then decided to cut the crap, freeing his dick from the boxers. Cas was larger than average, he noted, and had some girth to him. 

“You picked a good vessel,” Dean said appreciatively, leaning down to lick up the shaft. Cas squirmed and muttered something Dean couldn’t make out. 

“Now, Cas,” Dean said, continuing to give gentle, teasing licks up and down Cas’s length, “You’ve gotten lucky. I’m pretty good at this, so you just go crazy, all right?” 

“What do you mean--” Cas said, voice abruptly cutting off as Dean finally sucked him down for real, slowly relaxing his throat and moving down until his lips were nearly at the base. 

“Dean,” Cas moaned, rutting slightly. 

Dean attempted to communicate that he should keep going without moving his mouth. Luckily, Cas appeared to get the message, reaching down to twine his fingers in Dean’s hair as Dean focused and breathed through his nose, keeping his jaw slack. Truly, he had forgotten what this felt like, but he was starting to remember that he liked it, as Cas continued to make small movements all while letting out a truly satisfying stream of compliments and moans. It occurred to Dean that Cas had never watched porn, had never had sex himself, so had no idea what he was “supposed” to say or do. The realization made the entire experience so much hotter, as Dean realized that everything Cas was saying, he truly meant. 

“You’re incredible,” Cas breathed, pulling back slightly to let Dean breathe. Dean immediately dipped back down, sensing that the other man was close. 

“I got it, Cas,” Dean breathed, pulling back to jack him quickly, as Cas appeared to be rapidly losing his rhythm. 

He bent down and sucked at the head, and that was the final straw -- Cas was coming in his mouth with a soft shout. Dean normally had to tell himself to pretend to enjoy this part for his partner’s sake, but Cas seemed so _surprised_ by the sensation that Dean didn’t even have to pretend -- he barely even noticed the taste, and Cas’s possessive hand behind his head was strangely arousing. 

Dean finally pulled off and swallowed heavily. Cas was panting slightly, sweaty and sprawled out over the bed, looking shell-shocked. 

“What was that?” Cas asked in a daze. Dean had to laugh. 

“That’s sex,” Dean said, grinning. “People kill for that.” 

“I understand why,” Cas said. He ran a hand through his mussed hair, then seemed to remember himself and surged up to kiss Dean. Dean was certain that Cas would be able to taste himself on his tongue, but that didn’t seem to bother the angel, as he licked eagerly into Dean’s mouth. Dean found himself unable to do anything other than let it happen. 

“Now you lie down,” Cas said, manhandling Dean onto the bed and enthusiastically pulling his pants down, freeing Dean’s somewhat forgotten cock. “It is customary to reciprocate, correct?” 

“Cas, you don’t have to,” Dean said, but when the other man wrapped his hand around him, Dean was unable to hide his positive reaction. 

“But I want to,” Cas said, carefully pulling Dean’s pants off the rest of the way and beginning to mouth at the tip of Dean’s straining cock. Dean gripped at the sheets.

“Lay still and don’t move,” Cas commanded.

Dean was somewhat surprised, but did as he said, wondering if he was about to get his dick accidentally chomped off by an amateur. He quickly stopped wondering, as it became clear that Cas had somehow managed to pick up on all of Dean’s usual techniques already. He was replicating them all perfectly. 

“Wow, Cas,” Dean said, threading his fingers through his thick hair. “You sure learn quick.” 

“I said not to move,” Cas said, forcibly removing Dean’s hands and licking down the side of his shaft. “I’m busy.” 

“Yes, sir,” Dean said with amusement. 

Cas was clearly not kidding around, however, as he immediately resumed blowing Dean’s mind. Dean was embarrassingly quick to finish -- something about knowing that Cas had never done this before, combined with his display of power, managed to push buttons Dean hadn’t even realized he had. He spilled his load into Cas’s waiting mouth, almost more aroused by the situation than anything else. 

“That was great, Cas,” Dean said, pulling the other man up to kiss him lazily. Cas draped himself over Dean and let it happen, kissing back gently until Dean’s lips were sore. 

“What happens now?” Cas asked, letting his head fall onto Dean’s chest. 

“Generally, we sleep,” Dean said. 

“Right,” Cas said. “Go to sleep, Dean.” 

“Are you sure?” Dean said, his eyes already falling shut of their own accord. 

“Yes,” Cas said. “I’ll keep a watch.” 

“You do that,” Dean muttered, wrapping a possessive arm around the other man. He stayed conscious just long enough to think about how good it felt to have his entire body pressed against the angel’s, how nice it was to experience such a generous overdose of human contact, before he lost consciousness and fell gracefully into sleep. 

~~~

The next morning, Dean woke up feeling refreshed, albeit a little vulnerable by the fact that he was still fully naked and Cas was sitting on the bed, fully dressed again. 

“Morning, Cas,” he said, trying to pretend nothing strange had happened and throwing his clothes on as fast as possible. 

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas said. “I was about to wake you. We need to go.” 

To Dean’s relief, Cas did not appear to be uncomfortable by the events of the previous night, nor did he appear to be angry at all or keen to talk about it. He supposed that the prospect of trapping an archangel would probably be enough to distract anyone. 

Dean quickly brushed his teeth, splashed water onto his face, and gathered up his sparse belongings. “I’m ready,” he said. 

Cas just nodded, clearly as stressed as he’d been the previous afternoon. 

The previous day, they had picked out an abandoned warehouse as the site of the trap. Cas immediately got to work, and drew a number of intricate sigils on the walls, while Dean carefully poured the holy oil. Once the sigils were up, Cas stalled for a little while longer, trying to find something to improve, before consenting to begin the ritual. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, after adding most of the ingredients to the golden bowl. “I need a drop of your blood.” He looked genuinely regretful. 

“Sure, take it,” Dean said, sticking out his arm. 

“Human blood is an archaic necessity for this type of spell,” Cas grumbled. “I do not approve of it.” 

“I have more than I need, anyways,” Dean said with a shrug. 

Cas lit a match over the bowl and set it aflame, chanting in a language that Dean couldn’t possibly hope to understand. The long-since burned out lightbulbs above them exploded in tandem, but nothing else happened. 

“Um,” Dean said. “Are you sure you did it right?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Cas said. “It may take a moment.” 

“A moment” ended up being several hours long. The stakeout was boring for the first few hours, with Dean wanting to leave and try again elsewhere and Cas continuously insisting that the spell had worked and they just needed to wait some more. Dean eventually gave up on trying to change his mind and elected to pull out a deck of cards and teach Cas how to play cribbage. Cas initially seemed to think it was stupid, but he got increasingly competitive about it as they kept playing. Just when Dean had started to forget that they were waiting for a dangerous archangel, the winds outside began to pick up, the sky darkened several shades, and a vicious rain appeared out of nowhere and began pelting the side of the building. 

“He’s here,” Cas said, standing and going to the center of the warehouse. “Stay behind me.” 

The wind howled harder, chilling Dean to the bone, as the doors to the warehouse all flew open at the same time. The next time Dean blinked, a person had appeared. A somewhat familiar person. 

“You--” Dean began. 

“Yep, me,” the trickster said with a shit-eating grin. “Last time we spoke, I believe I was killing you repeatedly, isn’t that right, Dean-o?” 

“You know each other?” Cas said, looking back and forth between Gabriel and Dean with comical speed. 

“We’re practically besties,” Gabriel said. 

“We are not _besties,_ ” Dean said harshly, lighting his match and dropping it onto the ring of holy fire. Gabriel watched the ring of flames spring up around him with an expression of amusement. 

“This is a very sophisticated setup you got here,” he said sarcastically. “Would be a shame if some rain were to come in and put out this fire, wouldn’t it?” As he spoke, the rain from outside changed angles and became impossibly horizontal, pelting at the ground with a supernatural viciousness and just barely managing to graze Dean’s back, despite the fact that he was far from any window or door. 

“We’ll be gone by then,” Castiel said, fixing Gabriel with a vicious glare. “I just need to know one thing, brother.” 

“Is it sex advice you’re after?” Gabriel said, looking between him and Dean with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Cause you could have just texted for that.” 

“Where is God?” Cas said determinately. “You have clearly been on earth for some time, and God isn’t in heaven, so he must be here as well. Where is he?” 

“Oh, Castiel,” Gabriel said, fixing him with a sympathetic look. “God’s dead! He’s been dead.” 

“If God isn’t on earth, then why are you here?” Cas said. “What’s the point of all this, if God is supposedly dead?” 

“Oh, you mean the apocalypse? What’s the point of that?” Gabriel said, his smirk faltering slightly. “It’s our whole plan, you know. Stage a Big Bad Apocalypse, pit Lucifer and Michael against each other, cause so much damage we force God to come out of hiding. You ask me, it’s not going to work, but why bother fighting it, you know? At the end of the day, I’m a bleeding heart. I just want my siblings to get along, and if having a _big bad duel_ is going to accomplish that, then so be it.” 

“Why were you pretending to be a trickster god?” Dean said. 

“Had to be in hiding for a while,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Plus, I had special orders to fuck with Sam like that. He’s an important piece of the puzzle, you know.” 

Dean glared, feeling a bit tired of hearing that from supernatural entities with less-than-pure motives. 

“Oh, don’t be jealous, Dean-o,” Gabriel said. The rain pelted harder, soaking through Dean’s jacket and nearly grazing the ring of holy fire. “You have a role, too.” 

“He’s being useless, Cas, we should maybe go,” Dean said, eyeing the door. 

“Where is God?” Cas yelled again. 

“I don’t know, kiddo!” Gabriel yelled back. “But if you ask me, he isn’t going to save you, even if you do find him. If he isn’t going to come out of hiding for a fucking apocalypse, he sure as shit isn’t going to for a single disobedient angel, don’t you think?” 

Cas bristled and looked ready to say something else, but a huge thunderclap came at that moment from right above the warehouse, inexplicably managing to break a huge hole in the roof. Gabriel laughed maniacally as rubble fell around him.

“You remember how much our father likes humans, don’t you, brother?” Gabriel said, with vicious glee. “Is that why you’re hanging around this one? You hope his _humanity_ will rub off on you and make God care about you?” 

“Let’s go, Cas,” Dean yelled. He could barely make his voice heard over the thunderous rain. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw the far edge of the ring of holy fire binding Gabriel begin to go out. He turned to run, and luckily Cas finally snapped out of his furious state enough to take his hand and fly them out to where they’d parked the impala. Frantically, Dean turned the key and got the engine started, peeling out of the soaking-wet patch of dirt they’d parked on. He didn’t properly exhale until they’d made it to the open road, surrounded by other cars and blue skies again. 

“That was close,” Dean said. 

“I suppose,” Cas said. He was staring out the window absently, not seeming to take anything in. 

“You okay, man?” Dean said. 

There was a long silence. Cas sat as still as a rock.

“None of us are okay, Dean,” he finally said, tone devoid of any emotion. “I can’t fix any of it. And it appears that God can’t fix it either.” 

“Hey, we can’t just take that weirdo’s word for it, right?” Dean said. “He was saying all kinds of crazy shit back there. Like, who’s Michael? What’s that about?” 

“That’s their plan A, as you called it,” Cas said. “Heaven has a Lucifer equivalent -- the archangel Michael. He is the hammer of heaven. They intend to use him against Lucifer, and squash his forces, and they do not care about the cost to the lives on earth. It’s like the Samhain problem, but multiplied a millionfold.” 

“Wait, what?” Dean said, making an effort to continue to pay attention to the road before him despite his very real urge to pull over and pay full attention to the conversation. “You knew about that and didn’t think it was important to tell me?” 

“I had hoped to stop it,” Cas said, sounding so defeated that Dean was struggling to stay mad at him for withholding the information. “But it appears that stopping it is not possible, especially if even Gabriel isn’t bothering to try. Normally, Gabriel is the most peaceful of the archangels.” 

“Hey,” Dean said, sparing a glance over at him. “I guess you might not know me that well yet, but I kind of specialize in stopping things that should be impossible to stop. Screw Gabriel, screw God. We’ll figure it out.” 

“I do know you, Dean, and that’s very nice of you to say,” Cas said, but he was still looking out the window, clearly not focused at all. “But heaven will surely be after us now, if they weren’t already. We need to be careful. _You_ need to be careful.” 

“We’ll just avoid them,” Dean said. Cas still wouldn’t look at him.

“I need to go speak with someone,” Cas said. “Be very cautious until my return.” 

“Wait, Cas--” Dean said, but Cas was already gone.

“Fuck,” Dean said, slamming his hand on the dashboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if y'all want warnings in front of the chapters with NSFW content -- I didn't put any for this one because I figured it was in the tags for the work as a whole and I didn't want to spoil anything. But I can start putting them in for anyone who wants to skip the NSFW parts!
> 
> Cribbage: https://bicyclecards.com/how-to-play/cribbage/
> 
> Planning to post Chapter 6 in two days, and then after that I'll probably try to stick to this posting-a-chapter-every-day thing!


	6. Chapter 6

It was almost funny, how quickly Dean’s thoughts turned dark once he was alone. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he’d only been heading there for about an hour before he felt his grip on reality completely slip. His mind was back in hell.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the impala, and felt like he was going to throw up. How had he convinced Cas -- innocent, angelic Cas -- to have sex with him? Dean used to think of himself as an attractive person, but now he could only see the hellbound, battered soul within whenever he looked at himself. Once, there was a time when his one-night stands had tried to stick around, and he’d had to learn how to gracefully extract himself from them, but now everyone could surely see what Dean did. No one in their right mind would want to stick around. Just look at how quickly Cas had disappeared. 

Dean could find a case, but it seemed so futile. He went to a drugstore instead, buying a bunch of random shit his dad would have judged him for and angrily justifying them all to his judgmental internal voice. He pushed the pile of incriminating items at the pimpled kid at the register, daring him to say something, but the kid appeared too engrossed in his phone to care. 

He ended up in a bar before he’d even really thought about his next stop. It was still light outside, and the bar was almost empty and strangely well-lit, not hiding any of the grime and grit of the place, but Dean didn’t care. He ordered and downed three shots in a row, savoring the burn in his throat. 

What to do now? How could he change himself the most?

Back when he was a teenager, probably sixteen or seventeen, Dean had had a brief crush on a boy at one of his many high schools who painted his nails black, had his nose pierced, and wore thick eyeliner every day. His dad had seen him say something innocuous and nice to the kid one day and given him shit for it. _Did you think he was a girl, Dean-o? Do we need to get your eyes checked?_ Of all the people Dean couldn’t remember from his life before hell, how strange that that boy had made the cut -- his face perfectly preserved, his name long since gone. Thinking of the boy, Dean took out the black nail polish he’d just bought and carefully painted his middle fingernail. It looked patchy and horrible. How had that boy gotten his nails to look good? Dean attempted to cover the rest of his left hand nails, but they all turned out approximately as bad as his first attempt. His hand looked wrong, now, but whether that was because the polish was so bad or because it existed at all, Dean wasn’t certain.

There had been a time, when he was younger, when Dean had legitimately believed that the worst thing about him was his occasional attraction to men. John’s influence, of course. Once Dean started hunting primarily by himself, before Sam left Stanford and joined him, Dean had gotten over that hang-up with an aggressive, fuck-you gusto, enthusiastically fucking men and women all over the country without a single thought to what his father would think. But he’d never done anything to change his appearance, never done anything permanent that would let his father know how far from normal his son had gotten. 

What would John say about how Dean looked now? His upper body was covered with tattoos, his hair was growing longer, he had started wearing his protective charms around his neck again. John had teased him about them so mercilessly, claiming they looked like girly jewelry, that Dean had stopped wearing them and forgotten about them for years until, freshly back from hell, he’d found them tangled up in the back of the glovebox. 

Dean barely looked like who he used to be, at least to his own biased gaze. He was probably still recognizable to anyone else, though. What else could he change? 

Dean was just about to attempt to pierce his own ear when he noticed that a strange, turtle-looking bald man had appeared across the table from him, smiling with his mouth closed in a twisted pantomime of kindness. The man’s gaze was trained on Dean, making it glaringly obvious that Dean wasn’t about to get out of this without Having A Conversation. 

“Hello, Dean,” the man said, his hands clasped primly together. “Are we having a little breakdown?” 

Dean was drunk enough that he didn’t immediately register that the man somehow knew his name already. His tolerance was high, but three shots right in a row would take it out of anyone.

“Nope, just giving myself a makeover,” Dean said, infusing as much sarcasm and vitriol into his tone as possible. The man had barely spoken, but Dean already knew that he hated him. “Do you want to help me pierce my ear?” 

“I had something serious to talk to you about,” the man said, seeming a little put off. 

“Can we talk about it while I stab myself through the ear?” Dean said. 

The man sighed, and looked to be thinking about something. He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded a bit like _stupid apes._

“Fine,” he said, carefully fishing an ice cube out of his drink and taking the needle from Dean. He held the ice cube behind Dean’s earlobe and shoved the needle through Dean’s ear in one quick motion. “Can we talk now?” 

“Let me put my earring in first,” Dean said, fishing through the plastic bag of items from the drugstore. “What do you think, the black stud or this fake diamond?” He’d picked up the latter because he thought it was hilarious, but the bald man didn’t seem to share his sense of humor, simply rolling his eyes and making a gesture with his hand. The black stud flew into Dean’s ear. 

“You are more insolent than I had first thought,” the man said.

“All right,” Dean said, mildly concerned now. “Who are you?”

“My name is Zachariah,” the man snapped. “I believe you recently entrapped my superior.” 

“Oh,” Dean said. “You work for Gabriel?” 

“Finally it clicks,” Zachariah said. 

“No offense, but I’m a little surprised,” Dean said. “You have way more of a stick up your ass than Gabriel. Like, at least Gabriel has a sense of humor, you know?” 

Fury swirled behind Zachariah’s freakishly wide eyes, and he reached out and pressed two thick fingers to Dean’s forehead. Dean felt a jolt, and suddenly he was in an eerily blank room, with white walls, white ceiling, a white floor, and no furniture or windows.

“Your lack of respect is appalling,” Zachariah hissed. “Did you learn insubordination from your rogue buddy Castiel, or were you born this way?” 

Dean, beginning to feel seriously concerned by the lack of any escape route, decided to keep a dignified silence until he figured out what Zachariah wanted. It was currently seeming as though what he wanted was a punching bag, which was unfortunate. 

The angel took a deep breath, and appeared to come down from his sudden rage just enough to carry on the conversation, his false smile returning. 

“I don’t want to fight with you, Dean,” he said in an insincere tone. “We’re supposed to be on the same side.” 

“What side is that?” Dean asked. “I’m getting kind of confused. Lucifer wants to end the world, which is bad, but then it sort of seems as though Michael and Gabriel _also_ want to use the world as their personal campfire, is that right?” 

“Gabriel and Michael are working together to defeat Lucifer and bring paradise to earth,” Zachariah said. 

“And Lucifer wants to bring hell to earth,” Dean said. “No one wants to just leave earth as it is. I got it. _Great_ plans all around, really spectacular.” 

“We believe that Lucifer has located his true vessel,” Zachariah plowed on, with the tone of a frustrated professor who had given the same lecture dozens of times already. “Did you know that more powerful angels have less options for vessels? For me, this middle-aged salesman was one choice of several. For Michael and Lucifer, only humans from very specific bloodlines can sufficiently contain their power. Lucifer is closing in on his, so Michael must also find his. He remains in heaven as we speak, amorphous and unable to fight on earth.” 

“That sounds like a big problem,” Dean said. “I’m not really sure what you expect me to do about it, though. Or why you bothered to kidnap me to tell me this.”

“Lucifer’s vessel is Sam Winchester,” Zachariah said. 

Dean’s blood went cold. 

“That’s impossible,” he said slowly. Dean had closed the Sam-door in his mind the second his brother had hung up on him, knowing that thinking about him any further would only make him angry, but now that door swung open with a violence that left Dean mostly stunned and thinking much too fast. “I won’t let that happen. That can’t happen.” 

“How can it _not_ ?” Zachariah said smugly. “The demon Azazel picked him from birth to be the body of his true master. Azazel did everything within his power to ensure that Sam had the form and the temperament to house Lucifer -- everything from ensuring you went to hell, to keeping Sam surrounded by demons at all times, to even encouraging his rebellion against your father. Sam is the rebellious son, isn’t that right? Or…” he gave Dean a condescending up-and-down, eyes lingering on the gently-bleeding piercing Dean now had. “He _was_ the rebellious son.” 

“I won’t let Sam say yes,” Dean said. “Lucifer needs him to say yes, right? Because Lucifer is an angel?” 

“Woah, hold your horses,” Zachariah said. Dean hadn’t even realized, but he’d subconsciously gone for a door that wasn’t there, intending to find Sam. “You can stop Sam another way. A better way.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. 

“Say yes to Michael,” Zachariah said. “Just as Sam is Lucifer’s true vessel, so too are you Michael’s. We had worried that the forces of hell had damaged you too greatly to be a true vessel, but Michael says otherwise. For some reason, he appears partial to you, even despite your recent, er, _adventures_ in hell. Say yes to him, give him a corporeal body, and allow him to crush Lucifer and all of hell’s forces for good! You’ll be a hero, Dean, regardless of what you did in hell.” 

“Michael wants to wear _me_?” Dean said, incredulous. 

“Yes, shockingly,” Zachariah said. “Listen.” 

Voices suddenly began whispering in Dean’s ear, surprising him and causing him to whip around to try to figure out where they were coming from. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but they were deep and pleasing and seemed to be beckoning him to go somewhere. Furrowing his brow, Dean tried to make out the words, but no matter how far he reached, the words were still just barely incomprehensible.

“Hmm,” Dean said, deliberately ignoring the whispers. They abated immediately, but Dean had a feeling that if he tried to hear them again, they’d come back. “That’s tempting, but I’ll have to pass for now. There’s somewhere I need to be right now.” 

“There is _nowhere_ you need to be,” Zachariah said. “You’ve been trying to hide, I know it, but we have spies everywhere. You can’t hide forever, Dean. And those sigils you have on your ribs can’t block out Michael. He knows you too well.”

“That sounds like a problem I can deal with after I find my brother,” Dean said politely. “Would you be a dear and point me in his direction?” 

Zachariah grunted in frustration. 

“It’s too late for your brother, you fool,” Zachariah said. “Lucifer cannot be denied. Do your part and say yes.” 

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “You don’t know Sammy like I do.” 

“No, _you_ don’t know your brother like you think you do,” Zachariah said, surging forward to touch Dean’s forehead again. 

Dean felt a massive jolt, as though he was flying through time and space, observing from high above. He saw Sam, but he wasn’t Sam at all, he was blank faced and yet still so strangely mocking, commanding an army of demons and angels with glowing halos and black eyes. He saw miles and miles of barren wastelands, the entire earth leveled and turned into a new hell, one with no distinguishing features and so much nothing it would drive you insane. He saw crumbling buildings, a church with only upside-down crosses, civilizations of people huddled together in the middle of the nothing, kept going only by the skin of their teeth. He saw Bobby’s head on a pike. He saw Ellen and Jo fighting a tide of demonic ghosts they couldn’t hope to beat back, getting overwhelmed by the assault and choking on black smoke. And he saw Cas -- a Cas who had clearly been broken beyond repair, a Cas with overgrown hair and too much stubble, a Cas who looked very human and very angry, asking Dean _why? Why did you make me fall for_ this _?_ Dean tried to respond, but he didn’t have a body to move anymore. 

And then he saw hell, the real hell, the one he remembered, and he saw himself back at the racks, torturing scores and scores of angels, angels who still clearly hadn’t fallen but were somehow cowed and powerless, getting carved into by some future version of Dean, a version who was cackling maniacally as he sliced and burned. As he laughed, his eyes changed color -- not to black, but to the golden yellow color of Azazel’s eyes. Alastair was watching in the shadows, flushed with an egregious amount of pride. He was free to indulge in the sin, after all -- his side had won, and Dean had turned. 

With a gasp, Dean returned to the white room, where Zachariah was looking at him with false sympathy. 

“I can see the future, Dean,” he said. “That’s what’s going to happen. Would you really rather become a prince of hell than say yes to Michael and usher in an age of paradise?”

“I will not say yes to Michael until I see my brother,” Dean said slowly. “Let me go. You have to let me go sometime, don’t you? Wouldn’t Michael be upset if you killed his true vessel?” 

“We’d just bring you back,” Zachariah said. 

“You’d bother going all the way to hell to get me back, when you could just let me go now? You say you can track me, right? So why is it so bad that I want to go to my brother, if you can find me again?” 

“Insolent, as ever,” Zachariah muttered. “Perhaps after some time to stew, you’ll make the right decision. You’ll see that putting this off is nothing more than an absurd attempt at a power grab.” 

Dean blinked, and the angel was gone, leaving him alone in the white room. 

~~~

Dean had a lot of experience with being trapped by supernatural entities much more powerful than he, but that didn’t mean that he was good at handling it, especially knowing what he knew about Sam. He wasted the first hour or so running around the room, looking for an exit he knew he would never find. He wasted the second and third hours being deliberately silent, glaring at the pristine white walls as if they were Zachariah, challenging them in a battle of wills. He wasted the fourth hour kicking the walls and yelling at Zachariah, screaming for him to come back and partake in some hand-to-hand combat, like a real man. During the fifth hour, he tried a tactic he’d never been able to use in hell. 

“Cas,” he said quietly. His voice was hoarse from all the yelling and the lack of water, and sounded unnaturally deep to his ears. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Castiel, I pray that you have your ears on, and have noticed that your asshole brother put me in a giant white box. I could really use some help getting out of this one. Sam needs me.” 

Silence answered him, more of the oppressive silence that had hung around Dean for the entirety of the time he’d been trapped. 

“I pray that you’re not, uh, ghosting me because you regret what happened the other night,” Dean continued. “Normally, I would respect that, you know, I’ve certainly done my fair share of disappearing on people myself, but the stakes are pretty high here… you know, for the world, for my brother, for me…” 

Feeling embarrassed, Dean lapsed into silence again. He sat against the unyielding wall for a while longer, so much longer that he lost feeling in one of his legs, before trying again. 

“Castiel,” he whispered. “I really need you, man.” 

There was a sudden, low noise -- so low that Dean felt it more than heard it. He snapped up to his feet just as all the light in the room fizzled out in a dramatic _snap_ , plunging him into total darkness. 

“YOU ARE PRAYING TO THE WRONG ANGEL,” a voice said, a voice so loud and deep that it echoed around Dean and seemed to be coming up from the floor, down from the ceiling, in from each of the darkened walls. Dean felt himself vibrating slightly, as if his body was recognizing the voice in a way that his mind couldn’t. 

“Who are you?” Dean asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer. 

“I AM MICHAEL,” the voice said slowly, dragging out each syllable to be unnaturally long. “YOU ARE MY EARTHLY FORM, DEAN WINCHESTER. I HAVE WATCHED YOU FOR ALL YOUR YEARS. I KNOW IT TO BE TRUE.” 

The ground beneath Dean suddenly disappeared, and his stomach dropped as Dean began falling, falling through what felt like nothing at all, with no air resistance to slow his descent, limbs flailing uselessly. 

“Let me go,” Dean shouted, though his voice sounded feeble and small compared to Michael’s hopelessly deep one.

“I AM,” Michael responded. “YOU ARE MY EARTHLY FORM, AND I DO NOT INTEND TO FORCE YOU TO ACCEPT ME. YOU WILL DO SO WILLINGLY. YOU KNOW YOU WILL.” 

Dean felt, rather than heard, Michael laugh gently at that. Dean’s fall seemed to be accelerating beyond what was physically possible, and he clamped his mouth shut to fight the sudden nausea.

“THERE IS MUCH YOU STILL DON'T KNOW,” Michael continued. “MUCH YOU STILL CAN'T ACCEPT. BUT YOU WILL, DEAN WINCHESTER. YOU WILL LEARN ALL, AND YOU WILL SEE THAT WORKING TOGETHER IS THE ONLY WAY. I AM ON YOUR SIDE, DEAN WINCHESTER, AND YOU WILL SOON BE ON MINE.”

Dean felt his vision begin to go black as he fell faster and faster. The ground had to be coming soon, he knew it was, and he envisioned himself hitting it with a spectacular splat, envisioned Michael carefully entering his pancaked body and taking it away.

“I AM ON YOUR SIDE,” Michael said again. “YOU WILL UNDERSTAND SOON.” 

Dean suddenly felt himself hit something, something soft and yielding that gave way to break his fall, then snapped back up. Once Dean came to a complete stop, it curved gently to let Dean slide off, looking for all the world like a massive, black hand. Dean was deposited onto the ground just as the incorporeal hand blew away in the wind, taking Michael’s presence with it, if the palpable relaxation of the atmosphere and sudden silence meant anything. 

Dean stood up blindly, and immediately fell onto a nearby object, vomiting uncontrollably. He pushed himself up again to see that he had just puked all over the impala, parked right where he had left it, as if nothing at all had happened. 

Vomit seeped over Dean’s left hand, covering his painted nails as if in a mocking rejection of everything rebellious Dean had ever tried to do. _Be a good son again, Dean,_ it seemed to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a ~posting schedule~ (also added to beginning notes)! Basically, I will be posting a chapter every day, with an extra day between 5/6 (already happened), 10/11, and 14/15. This is mostly because I like posting every day but 5, 10, and 15 are big chapters :)


	7. Chapter 7

One desperate phone call to Bobby later, in which Dean neglected to mention anything that had recently happened over promises to “fill him in later,” Dean was on his way to St. George, Utah. There were rumors that Alastair had been in the area, and Sam had apparently decided to try to trap him with only Ruby as backup. Consequently, Dean was flooring it. 

He’d only been driving for a few hours when Castiel casually appeared in the passenger seat. Dean jumped, and nearly swerved into the center divider.

“Bobby told me where you were heading,” Cas said by way of explanation. 

“Maybe give me a heads up next time you wanna drop in,” Dean muttered. “Nearly killed us both.” 

“My apologies,” Cas said. “I just wanted to let you know that I heard your prayers.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He’d nearly forgotten about his attempt to pray to Castiel, in the chaos of the past hours. Ever since he had spoken to Michael, Dean had been vibrating nervously, feeling deeply uncomfortable in his own body, as if all his cells were tired of him driving and knew that someone else who could take over was out there. Dean was trying to think them into submission, but it wasn’t really working. 

“I wanted to help, but I couldn’t reach you,” Cas continued. “Zachariah hid you in heaven, which is a difficult place for me to be at the moment.”

“I didn’t know that was heaven,” Dean said. “Gotta say, I’m pretty disappointed. It’s just like hell, but whiter.”

“You were in Zachariah’s heaven, admittedly,” Cas said. “Each being has their own. I imagine yours would be much more pleasant to you.” 

“What’s yours, then?” Dean asked. 

“That’s considered a very personal question,” Cas said. 

“Oh,” Dean said. “Sorry.” 

“I don’t take offense at the question,” Cas said, smiling a little. “But I figured I would mention it, since you often point out when I say or do anything humans consider strange.” 

Dean shrugged. 

They fell into silence for a while, Dean focusing on driving as fast as he possibly could, and Cas looking a little nervous, like he wanted to spit something out. Dean figured Cas could break the silence whenever he wanted. He was angry with the angel, not as angry as he’d been at Sam, but angry enough that he didn’t know what he would say if he opened his mouth and was honest. At the very best, Cas had been lying by omission -- at the worst, he’d delivered Dean directly into Michael’s lap. At the worst, this had been his plan all along, and he'd been playing Dean since day one.

“Dean,” he finally said, sounding upset. “I heard the archangel Michael’s voice.”

“Oh, did you hear him talking to me? I guess he was loud enough,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. 

“He spoke directly to you?” Cas said, incredulous. “No, I didn’t hear that, but he did make an announcement to all my siblings. None of us are to touch you, he said. You are very important to him.”

“That’s basically what he said to me, too,” Dean said, in an intentionally deadened tone. “I’m his vessel, I guess. And Sammy is Lucifer’s. You wouldn't happen to know about that, Cas, would you?” 

“You seem upset with me,” Cas said. “Dean, please believe me, I didn’t know. None of us did. This has all moved so fast… we only recently confirmed that Lucifer was even out of the cage. I didn’t even realize that Michael intended to fight Lucifer until you and I heard it from Gabriel.” 

“Sure, sure,” Dean said. “You ‘didn’t know,’ I get it, makes _perfect_ sense. Except, there’s one thing I just can’t figure out. One thing I’ve been choosing to ignore, because I’m stupid, and I thought you and I were on the same team.”

“We _are_ on the same team,” Cas said, but Dean didn’t let him finish. 

“Why’d you raise me, Cas?” he said. “Your whole garrison died in hell, right? That’s what you told me, at least. But you still took the time to get me out of there, because you  _ knew  _ why I had to be out of hell. You knew that Michael wanted to wear me to fucking set the world on fire, and you  _ still  _ got me out of there, put me right in Michael’s lap. Knowing what would happen to the world. To me.” 

“Dean, no,” Cas said urgently. “I didn’t know any of that. I hadn’t even heard the archangel’s voice for several millennia. All I knew was what the leader of my garrison told me, which was that a righteous man was in hell, a righteous man who didn’t belong there.” 

“Wish I could believe you, Cas,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice steady. “But it just doesn’t make sense. I’ve been wondering for so long, why me. Why you went to all that effort just to help me get out. Now I see why. You want to bring on the apocalypse, just like the rest of them. That’s why you set me free. That’s why you kept me close.” 

“Dean,” Cas said. “I do not want to bring on the apocalypse, and I do not appreciate your lack of faith in me, after all I’ve been doing to  _ avoid  _ bringing on the apocalypse. Do you have any idea how many orders I have ignored, since I met you? How many times I've deferred to your opinion, when I knew I shouldn't? I am trying to help _you_. I don’t want you to say yes to Michael, and I don’t want Sam to say yes to Lucifer.”

“Then why’d you raise me, if you don't want that?” Dean said, raising his voice and clutching the steering wheel. “Why go to the trouble?” 

“Dean,” Cas said, taking in a ragged breath. “You don’t understand.”

“Then enlighten me, before I kick you out of the car," Dean said, hands clenching around the steering wheel. 

“When I met you, I had lost everything,” Cas said in a pleading tone. “My whole garrison was dead. Normally, demons can’t kill angels, but in hell… we were ambushed, and all of my closest allies and friends were gone in an instant. I was trapped, presumed dead. I wandered for forty years, at least, trying in vain to find a way out. And then I found you.

“I recognized you as the soul I had originally been tasked to retrieve. But I would have recognized you even if I’d never known you. Your soul shone so bright, I knew I couldn’t leave you there. I had to find a way to get you out.” 

“You saved me because I was _shiny_? Really?” Dean said, voice dripping in sarcasm. 

“No, Dean,” Cas said. “I saved you because every soul I encountered, for decades and decades, was a black pit. They were all the same. I was going insane. Surely you can relate,” Cas’s gaze was burning a hole in the side of Dean’s face -- he could feel the angel staring at him, even as he kept his eyes trained deliberately, angrily, on the road. “Surely you remember what it’s like to be around such violence and anger and destruction.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean said with forced casualness.

“You stood out, Dean, because you didn’t  _ want  _ the violence and destruction. I could tell then, and I can tell that you don’t want it now, either. I knew you didn’t belong in hell, which is why I raised you. The detriment to Lucifer’s cause is only a benefit I am learning now.” 

“What detriment?” Dean said. “I don’t plan on saying yes to Michael. The guy’s just another Lucifer.”

“I’ve learned much over the past days,” Cas said solemnly. “The forces of hell, they expected you to turn. They thought they could turn you into a demon, make your body unsuitable for Michael to ever inhabit. Their plan hinged on it.”

Dean swallowed heavily. He thought about how he didn’t quite agree with Cas’s assessment that he didn’t crave violence and destruction. He thought about his phone shattering against the wall. He thought about the brief moment of relief he got from plunging a knife into a demon. He thought about how seconds ago, he’d been fantasizing about throwing the angel out the car and watching him splatter against the divider.

“But you didn’t,” Cas continued. “You didn’t turn. Hell tormented you, heaven abandoned you, but  _ I  _ got to you in time. I burned my hand onto your skin and broadcasted to both heaven and hell that you, Dean Winchester, were saved. You, Dean Winchester, walked out of hell still a human.” 

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice breaking embarrassingly, all anger somehow transformed into shame at the slightest show of kindness from the angel. “I guess I’m still a human, technically, but I’m not still me. I’m not. I…” he paused, wiping away a tear that made its way onto his cheek somehow. “I don’t know what I’m going to do next.”

“You stay human,” Cas said. “Don’t say yes to Michael, don’t say yes to Alastair. You do what you’ve been doing. You continue to try.” 

“I’m trying Cas, I am,” he said. “But even if I stay the course… what about Sam? We got in a pretty big fight the other day.” 

“Just tell him the truth,” Cas said. “You need each other.”

“Easier said than done,” Dean muttered. 

“You can do it,” Cas reassured. 

They were quiet for another moment. Cas’s argument still didn’t make sense to Dean, it didn’t seem possible that the angel had just happened to decide that he, Dean Winchester, deserved saving. But then again, Dean had seen firsthand that the other angels tended to be assholes. It was plausible that Cas really hadn’t known that Dean was Michael’s vessel, plausible that his superiors had left him rotting in hell for decades without even telling him why he was down there. Cas had certainly stuck out his neck for Dean on numerous occasions -- was that because he _did_ actually care, both about Dean and the fate of the world, or was it because he wanted to use Dean for the angel’s plan?

“Sorry I yelled at you,” Dean finally said. “I believe you, I guess. I mean, I’m surprised you give a shit about me, but I guess I’ll believe it, for now.”

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas said with a little smile. 

“Yeah, you’ve said that before,” Dean said. 

Cas nodded. “I should go now,” he said. “I connected with a very old friend yesterday, and apparently the head of my old garrison was recently spotted alive, despite what I thought happened in hell. Her name is Anna, and she is very wise and level-headed. Her insight will be very useful, as we try to figure out how to hold off the apocalypse.” 

“Good luck with that,” Dean said. 

“I’ll keep my ears on, as you say,” Cas said, and disappeared.

~~~

Sam wasn’t at any of the motels in St. George, nor was he at any of the places that had been afflicted by the “sudden, inexplicable bursts of lightning” that had tipped them off to Alastair’s presence in the area. He wasn’t answering his phone, either. Bobby GPS tracked the thing to a random dumpster in the center of town. Dean circled around the dumpster, walking around further and further in search of sulfur of EMF or anything remotely suspicious, but the area was devoid of clues.

There was only one thing left to do. 

“Hello?” Ruby whispered over the phone. 

“Where’s Sam?” Dean said. 

“Abandoned Big Lots on the edge of town,” Ruby whispered. “Get here  _ now _ .”

She hung up before Dean could say anything else.

~~~

Dean skirted around the edge of the abandoned Big Lots. Sure enough, packs of demons were roving around the outside, making Dean confident that Ruby hadn’t been lying about this, at the very least. He followed behind one such pack, picking off two stragglers before the rest noticed him and rushed him. Luckily, they were pretty low-grade demons, and Dean was able to fight them off without drawing too much attention to himself. He snuck in through the backdoor to find an empty, darkened store, with ceiling-high empty metal shelves and what seemed like an unnatural amount of creaking noises for a building of the size. Carefully, trying not to make any noise, Dean began to pick through the rows, snapping around each one, expecting to find Alastair behind every one. 

A few minutes passed, and Dean cleared half the rows. He heard a snap from behind him, and whipped around so fast that his neck cracked painfully. Ruby was standing there with the demon knife drawn, a finger to her lips in a silent shush. Dean nodded, and the two continued down the rows. 

There was a slightly ajar door to what looked like a storage closet tucked into a far corner of the store. Dean nodded towards it, and Ruby made her way over, carefully pushing the door open. 

Dean was expecting an army of demons behind the door, but there was only a dark staircase, winding down so far that Dean couldn’t see the bottom. The two made their way down, slowly at first, but then the sound of a familiar groan in the distance spurred Dean to take off and start running, skipping two stairs at a time. 

Sam was at the bottom, tied up and wearing handcuffs with strange, rune-like symbols on them. He had a black eye and dried blood in the corner of his mouth, but besides that, didn’t seem too much worse for the wear. He was half conscious, focusing in on Dean as soon as he knelt to pick the lock on the cuffs. 

“Hurry,” Sam rasped out. “He’ll come back.”

“We got it,” Ruby said, scanning back and forth. It was so dark that Dean couldn’t tell if there was a way into the room besides the stairs they’d come down, but he hoped not to find out.  With a snap, the cuffs came undone, and he helped Sam to his feet. 

Ruby made a noise of surprise, and Dean looked up to see Alastair’s smirking face, still in the vessel Dean recognized from their last encounter. With a casual movement of his hand, Alastair tossed Ruby to the side, and she went flying into the darkness with a scream. 

“Hi again, Dean,” Alastair said cheerfully. “I see that you have an archangel on your shoulder now.” 

He moved to toss Dean with the same flicking motion, but Sam put an arm out, and Alastair froze. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Sam said, sounding dangerous. 

“Sammy,” Alastair said, putting a hand to his chest. “Have you been practicing? That’s adorable.” 

“Yes,” Sam said, raising out his arm and closing his eyes. But before anything could happen, Alastair opened his mouth and smoked out with a piercing scream, leaving a sulfurous, smokey scent in his wake. 

“Damn, Sammy,” Dean said. “Alastair’s scared of  _ you  _ now ?” 

“I guess,” Sam said, lowering his arm slowly. 

~~~

They were sitting on the hood of the impala, looking out over the southern Utah desert. Dean was sipping a room temperature beer, deliberately not looking directly at Sam. Ruby had long since disappeared to clean up the rest of Alastair’s entourage, perhaps sensing the tension between the brothers, giving Dean the chance to update Sam on his brush with Michael. 

“So, an archangel wants to use you as a vessel?” Sam said. 

It was really very disturbing that he could say the sentence with such casualness. 

“Yep,” Dean said. “One of his cronies took me prisoner, but Michael let me out. Said he knew I’d voluntarily go to him, eventually.” 

“You can’t do that, Dean,” Sam said. “I mean, I know you won’t.” 

“I won’t,” Dean agreed. “I like the world non-roasted, thanks.” 

Sam nodded. 

“Speaking of,” Dean said. “You’re not planning to say yes to Lucifer, are you?” 

“Dean,” Sam said, shoulders tensing. “Of course not.”    


“Good,” Dean said. “So that’s our plan, right? Neither of us says yes?” 

“It’s a start,” Sam said. “But I worry they’ll find a way around it.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean said. “Plus, the world seems to already be going to shit, and neither of these bastards are corporeal yet.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam said. “Ruby says the angels and demons are skirmishing all over the world. Even in Antarctica, apparently.”

“God,” Dean said. “They’re fighting over an iceberg? Animals.” 

They were silent for a while longer, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the surroundings in a pinkish light. Dean knew Sam was waiting for him to say something about the fight, but he was nervous to bring it up. Even if Dean had retained all his memories from before hell, he suspected he still wouldn’t have known how to navigate such a situation without causing another fight. 

“Lucifer has been showing up in my dreams,” Sam said. 

“Shit,” Dean said. 

“The angels are right,” Sam said. “He’s compelling.”

“Compelling, but a fucking liar,” Dean said. 

“I know that,” Sam said. “Just, I can see why some of the angels are apparently deferring to him. He makes everything sound so simple. He makes his motives sound so pure. I know they’re not, but, I think he really believes he’s in the right.” 

“Yeah, well, we don’t listen to every single moron who thinks they’re in the right,” Dean said. 

“No, we don't,” Sam said. 

They lapsed into silence again. Dean swallowed down the remainder of his beer and tried not to think about how his brother seemed to be slipping away, tried not to hallucinate that his brother seemed a little too interested in Lucifer’s “motives.” It wasn’t real, he told himself. Since he’d been back from hell, he’d been imagining all sorts of things that weren’t real.

“Sammy, listen,” he finally said. “I’m sorry for pushing you away, and yelling at you the other day. The truth is, I just don’t want you to know about what happened to me in hell, because it’s awful, and embarrassing, and I don’t want you to think less of me.” 

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said. “I should have realized that you wouldn’t want to say much about hell. I mean, you’re right. It’s hell. I’m sure it’s not pleasant to talk about.” 

“No,” Dean said, swallowing hard and steeling his nerves. “But there is something I think you should know.” 

“What’s that?” Sam said. 

“Well, you already know that I was down there for a hundred years,” Dean said.

"Yeah," Sam prodded.

“I remember all of it, every single year. I won’t go into detail, but Alastair was trying to break me. He was trying to break me for decades. I lost count of how many. And the thing that’s bad…” Dean paused to swallow the lump in his throat, a treacherous tear already making its way down his cheek. “The thing is, he succeeded. He offered me the chance to get off the rack, to start torturing the other doomed souls, and I took it. I said no for years, but I didn’t say no forever.” 

“Dean…” Sam said sympathetically. 

“I didn’t remember who I was, by that point,” Dean continued. “I forgot your name. I forgot everyone I ever knew, I forgot what it was like to be here, on earth.” Tears were flowing freely now, and Dean was thinking about how he would certainly be back in hell again, sooner rather than later, and he would once again forget what it felt like to drink a beer, to watch a sunset over a desert, to talk to his brother. Once was bad enough, but to forget everything twice felt like stabbing at an already-infected wound. 

“It was a hundred years of pure torture, Dean, of course you forgot some things,” Sam said gently. 

“I still don’t really believe I’m back,” Dean choked out. “I don’t believe you’re who I used to know. I don’t believe that Cas isn’t just waiting to screw me over. I don’t believe that I’ll ever actually escape hell, you know? When I die, I’ll go right back. I… I don’t really believe in anything right now.”

“Give it time, Dean,” Sam said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ll realize that you're back. You'll be yourself again.”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean said. A salty tear made its way into his mouth, and he tried again to wipe it all away. “I don’t know if I even want to be myself again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 is looking to be a big one, pray 4 me that I finish by tomorrow 😬


	8. Chapter 8

They decided to go back to Bobby’s to regroup, taking turns driving so they barely had to stop. Dean couldn’t sleep at all during his turns, so he headed straight to his unofficial room to collapse, once they finally arrived. But despite his exhaustion, he somehow still couldn’t keep his eyes closed. He tossed and turned for about an hour before a trenchcoated silhouette appeared in a blink by the window. 

“Cas?” Dean whispered. “That you?”

“Were you sleeping, Dean?” Cas said. He was looking out the window, out towards the dark junkyard. Dean checked the time -- nearly three AM.

“Nah,” he said, sitting up. “How’d you know I was here?” 

“Bobby gave me a cell phone,” Cas said. “He told me that you and Sam arrived a few hours ago. He said you seemed upset.” 

“Don’t know why he had to tattle to you,” Dean muttered. 

“He’s just worried about you,” Cas said. “Much rests on your shoulders.” 

“Yeah, I could say the same for you,” Dean said. “Did you find Anna? Or God?”

“No,” Cas said, turning around and coming to sit heavily beside Dean. “I worry that Gabriel was telling the truth about God being elsewhere entirely.”

“Maybe he was,” Dean said. “But hey, we don’t need him.”

“I don’t know,” Cas said with a sigh. “I'm not used to feeling such doubt, such lack of faith in my superiors. It is deeply disarming.” 

“Lack of faith? Yeah, I can relate,” Dean said, reaching out to clap the angel on the shoulder. He looked up at the contact, meeting Dean’s eyes with an intensity that seemed unnecessary for the situation. “Sorry, man.”

Sometimes, when Dean looked into Cas’s eyes for long enough, he swore he could see them swirling, swirling with the same blue light of the angel’s true form. Tonight, he could nearly see the tension in the angel’s eyes, as the moment lengthened. Dean licked his lips subconsciously. 

“Dean,” Cas finally said in a rough, quiet voice that Dean could feel in his bones. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Course you can,” Dean said. 

“Er,” Cas said, blushing and looking down. “When humans have sex… do they normally do it one time, or--”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean said, laughing. “Are you trying to hit on me?” 

“I was simply wondering if I had done something wrong,” Cas continued, stumbling over his words a little. “I don’t know much about the mating rituals of humans--” 

“Mating rituals?” Dean chuckled. “Oh, yeah, keep talking dirty to me.” 

“I was only worried I had hurt your feelings,” Cas said, a little angrily. “But judging from your reaction, I guess I did not.” 

“Oh, no, don’t worry, Cas,” Dean said. “We can just say it was a one night stand. No hurt feelings whatsoever.” He held out his hands in an appeasing gesture. 

“One night stand… all right,” Cas said. “I assume that means the sex occurs once?” 

“Yes, that’s what that means,” Dean said. 

Cas stared at his hands for a long moment.

“Unless,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Unless, for some reason, you wanted to have a two night stand.”

“You mean… sex on two nights?” 

“Only if you want to.” 

“Do _you_ want to have sex on two nights?” 

“I usually don’t say no to sex, Cas. But only if… only if the other person wants it.” 

“I would also not say no.” 

“Okay,” Dean said, nodding. “Because, like, I don’t want to pressure you into anything, you’re a fucking _angel_ , I don’t want to corrupt you--”

“You couldn’t possibly pressure me into anything, Dean,” Cas said. “I can make my own decisions. I _am_ a divine entity, need I remind you.”

“A divine entity who wants to fuck me, apparently,” Dean said, grinning. 

“I could change my mind,” Cas said, deliberately turning away. 

“Oh, you wouldn’t,” Dean said, turning Cas’s face towards his and leaning forwards to kiss him. To his relief, Cas kissed back immediately, leaning into Dean and reaching out to cradle his head in his nimble hands. If his enthusiasm was anything to go by, Dean had to assume that Cas had, in fact, been wanting to repeat the experiment for quite a while, which was interesting. Dean hadn’t thought it was possible for an angel to actually want to have sex with him, beyond that random fluke when they both thought they were about to die, and the realization that it might _not_ have been a random fluke had Dean on the verge of thinking all sorts of dangerous thoughts. 

Cas manhandled Dean carefully, so that he was lying on the bed with Cas hovering over him, seemingly reluctant to pull away even a little. Dean was happy with that arrangement, letting himself get absorbed in each little touch, each little nibble, the feel of a body on top of him. Like the last time, he was able to forget all the existential shit he’d been worrying about within approximately five seconds of touching Cas. It was a miracle, really, a gift the angel possessed that Dean had never quite seen before.

“You’re so distracting,” he groaned, as the angel began nibbling at his earlobe. 

“Is that good?” the angel said softly, voice so low and gritty that Dean felt a chill pass through his full body. 

“Very good,” Dean said, leaning in to kiss him again. 

“Good,” Cas growled. “Then call me distracted as well.” 

Dean rolled them over, pinning Cas beneath him and kissing him gently. Feeling the careful nudge of Cas’s lips on his, Dean felt like a live wire, closer and closer to going off with each soft touch. He shrugged clumsily out of his shirt and pants, feeling frustrated with any barrier between himself and the angel, and Cas did the same with his trench coat and jacket. 

“Hey, I have an idea,” Dean said, voice low. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“In what sense?” Cas said, looking slightly confused. “Do you mean--”

“Anal sex,” Dean said, a little embarrassed to have to explain it. 

“The male g-spot is located by the prostate,” Cas said. “Is this what you are alluding to?” 

“Yes, Cas,” Dean said. “I can show you how to do it.” 

“I don’t know how,” Cas said, looking a little panicked. 

“Hey, hey,” Dean said, leaning in to give him a soft peck. “Can I just show you how?” 

Cas paused for a moment, then nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, show me, please,” he said. “I would like to do that.”

Dean got out of bed to find the lube and condoms he had long since hidden away. He put them on the bedside table and laid down on top of Cas, kissing him deeply in an attempt to help him calm down. 

“Okay,” Dean said, rolling over so that he was beside Cas. He uncapped the lube, and put some on his finger. “So, you just go one finger at a time. Like this.” He felt a little embarrassed trying to open himself up in front of Cas, but the angel appeared so genuinely curious that it was hard to remain embarrassed for long. 

“Very clever,” Cas said thoughtfully. “May I try?” 

“By all means,” he said, passing the lube over. The other man put some on his long pointer finger, then pushed tentatively at his entrance, circling slightly as if to find the best angle before plunging in, his finger reaching impossibly further than Dean’s own could. Dean inhaled sharply at the intrusion, and forced himself to relax. It had been a very long time since he’d felt the sensation of someone else inside him, and it was strange, but also made him crave _more_.

“Is that right?” Cas said. 

“Go up a little,” Dean breathed, and the angel brushed his prostate, just barely, but enough to cause Dean to arch his back involuntarily just slightly. “That’s good.”

“Okay,” Cas said, continuing to fuck gently in and out with his finger and surging forwards to kiss Dean, tongue slipping possessively into his mouth. They carried on like that for a while, long enough that Cas seemed to forget his initial panic, and Dean lost all feelings of discomfort.

Dean was just about to tell Cas to add another finger when the angel figured it out on his own, smoothly adding his middle finger. 

“You’re good at this, Cas,” Dean said, hooking a leg around his back and grinding up into him. “A natural.” 

“Hmm,” Cas hummed, using his other hand to unexpectedly grip Dean’s hard member and start jacking him off. The double onslaught caused Dean to moan involuntarily, thrusting up into Cas’s hand. 

“You’re going to make me come before we even start,” Dean muttered. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Cas said, sinking down to replace his hand with his mouth. Dean watched him bob up and down, threading a hand through his thick head of hair and muttering soft words of encouragement. 

“Cas, please,” Dean said, once he could tell that he was sufficiently prepared. “Now’s good.” 

“Now’s good for what?” Cas said, smiling devilishly. 

“Now’s good for you to get on with it,” Dean said. 

“Hmm,” Cas hummed again, sucking idly at Dean’s tip. “What if I just want to do this?” 

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean whined. “Are you going to make me beg?” 

“Perhaps,” Cas said, fixing Dean with a dark look. 

“Fine,” Dean said. “ _Please_ fuck me, Cas.” 

Cas pulled his fingers out slowly and pushed himself up to a standing position, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he did so. Carefully, as if he were still thinking about whether or not he’d indulge Dean’s request, he unbuttoned his slacks and pushed them down, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Dean inhaled in anticipation. 

“Say it again, Dean,” Cas said. 

“Please, Cas,” he breathed. 

“Edge of the bed,” Cas said, pulling his legs and helping him line up so that he was lying on the edge of the bed, at the perfect spot for Cas to push in without having to bend too much. Dean felt the angel’s cockhead tease at his entrance for a few moments before he was pushing in, slowly so as to not hurt him. Dean groaned when he felt Cas bottom out, getting used to the dueling sensations of the slight soreness and the spike of arousal. 

“I’m good,” Dean breathed after a moment. “Go ahead.” 

Cas thrust in and out slowly, an expression of total concentration on his face as his eyes fell shut. Dean ground into him, helping the angel find the correct angle and moaning loudly when he did. Cas’s hands fell to his hips, gripping tightly as the angel picked up the pace. Dean felt a warm thrum of arousal as his prostrate got drilled repeatedly, and sank pleasantly into the sensation. 

Cas abruptly reached out to grab his heavy, neglected cock, jacking him quickly, so quickly that Dean came in surprise within a matter of seconds. The angel wasn’t far behind him, stilling abruptly and breathing heavily. He pulled out and collapsed next to Dean, who swung a lazy arm around his torso.

“Pretty good for your first time, Cas,” Dean said. 

“Pretty good,” Cas agreed dazedly. “Good idea, Dean.” 

“I have those sometimes,” Dean said. 

“Next time I’ll do better,” Cas said, rolling over into what seemed like a nap (“meditative prayer,” Cas would later clarify). Dean smiled at the idea, and realized only after he’d gone to the bathroom, washed off his face, and gotten back into bed and into the angel’s idle arms, that Cas had just _assumed_ there would be a next time, assumed their two night stand might become a three night stand. He didn't know how to react to that.

~~~

Over the next few weeks, Sam and Dean re-entered a kind of routine, similar to what they’d had before the fight, but with slightly less tension and secrets. There were still moments that Dean had no idea what to do with, moments where Sam seemed like a stranger, but he was mostly able to ignore them, chalking them up to after-effects of hell. He was able to keep the ever-present anger and frustration at bay, mostly able to act the way he knew he was supposed to, fighting the urge to burn his old self down and run away again. Mostly, he was able to act like the person Sam and Bobby had once known, hiding everything about him that had changed for the worse. And if Bobby raised an eyebrow at Dean’s infected pierced ear… if Sam heard one of Castiel’s newly reoccurring two AM visits through the wall... well, they at least had the tact not to bring it up. 

At first, Bobby sent them out on the same types of basic demonic cases, but as hunters across the country began stepping up to help, and Alastair became more of a concern, they came to the agreement that finding Alastair’s new vessel had to be top priority for the Winchester brothers. There was alarming radio silence from him for around a month, during which Sam and Dean did everything they could to pick up his trail, and to track down a weapon that could kill him. Ruby was certain that Sam was strong enough to kill him, now, but Dean wanted a backup plan. He was in favor of trying to track down the Colt, which had last been seen in hell but could, hypothetically, make its way back to earth.

They banged their heads against the figurative wall for weeks. Even low-level demon activity seemed to be dying down, for reasons unknown. It was getting difficult to find minor demons to interrogate. 

And then, finally, there was a break. Ruby showed up one day, looking worse for the wear, claiming that Alastair had at last picked a new vessel and was going to perform a complicated ritual the following night. And even better, he supposedly had the Colt, and was intending to use it in the ritual. 

“Perfect,” Sam said, eyes brightening for the first time in weeks. “We get the Colt, we kill Alastair, then the ritual can’t happen and Alastair’s gone for good.” 

“How did you find all this out?” Dean asked Ruby suspiciously. 

“Believe it or not Dean, there are others like me out there,” Ruby said. “Most demons have taken Lucifer’s side, but there are some of us who recognize that following him is a horrible idea, some who are spying for us.”

“Hmm,” Dean said.

“Is that really so shocking?” Ruby said angrily. “Isn’t your angel buddy also anti-apocalypse?” 

“I just worry your information might be wrong,” Dean said. “This seems a little too easy.” 

“You think it’s going to be _easy_ to swarm an army of demons, fight our way to Alastair, disarm him, and shoot him with his own weapon, all before midnight tomorrow, when the ritual is meant to take place?” 

Dean had to admit she had a point there. 

They knew the town Alastair was in -- some middle-of-nowhere place in Missouri -- but the only clue they had as to what ritual he was planning, exactly, was a few minor disappearances. They beelined for the area, hoping to figure out more.

“Any of these could be simple possessions,” Sam said, rifling through a local newspaper. They were at the only diner they’d been able to find in town, sipping coffee and trying to act like federal agents off duty.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Except… look at this one. A ten-month-old went missing.” 

“A baby?” Sam said. “Probably not a possession, then.” 

“It would be just like Alastair to use a freaking _baby_ for a ritual,” Dean mused. 

“You think we should check it out?” Sam said. 

“Worth a look, for sure,” Dean said. 

The mother of the missing ten-month-old, Siobhan Flannigan, lived alone in what looked like an old, but well-cared-for, trailer. She was a single mother, and claimed that someone had broken into her home and taken her child while she was asleep. That was all the papers said about her. 

Sam knocked on the door of the trailer with an authoritative firmness. “Ms. Flannigan?” he called out, to no response. They waited a moment. 

“Siobhan Flannigan, this is the FBI,” Dean called. “We had a few questions relating to the disappearance of your son.”

Still nothing. 

“All right,” Sam said, kicking in the door. It came entirely off the hinges, falling back into the cabinets behind it. 

“Shit,” Dean said, peering in to see that the place appeared to have been ransacked completely. 

“Maybe they hid her body here?” Sam said, entering the trailer and picking his way through the rubble. 

“I doubt it,” Dean said, following his lead. It didn’t take long to search the whole place, where there was no trace whatsoever of Siobhan. There was, however, a sulfurous odor in the air. 

“I wonder if they took her alive,” Sam said. 

“Maybe a possession?” Dean said. “But it still makes no sense why they took her baby, too.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam said. 

~~~

They split up for the rest of the day, Sam interviewing people who had known Siobhan and Dean trying to narrow down sites where the ritual could take place. As he still had no idea what the ritual was, exactly, his was a nearly impossible task, but luckily, Sam had more luck. 

“Rendezvous, now,” Sam said over the phone, sounding depressed. “I think I figured it out. I told Bobby what I know, he’s looking into my theory.” 

They met at the diner again, Sam looking appreciably more pale than usual. 

“So, get this,” he said. “Siobhan’s friends said that a little under two years ago, Siobhan had a minor psychotic break. Said she claimed she was being stalked by demons. They wanted to send her to a mental hospital, but then once she found out she was pregnant with her son, all the demon-talk magically went away. Until yesterday, when one of her friends got a frantic call from Siobhan, claiming the demons were back.” 

“Okay,” Dean said. “So the demons were interested in her, then they went away, and now they’re back?” 

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” Sam said. “Have you ever heard of a half-demon, half-human child?”

“I didn’t know that those could exist,” Dean said in horror. 

“Yeah, supposedly they’re much more powerful than a typical demon,” Sam said. “Antichrist lore is based around these children. According to Bobby, they’re very rare. They often don’t survive long enough to even be born, but if they do…” 

“Shit,” Dean said. “You think Siobhan had a demon child?” 

“An Antichrist, yes,” Sam said. “These children are powerful enough on their own, but to offer one up in some kind of ritual amplifies it by a thousandfold. I think… I think Alastair is going to try to use this child to summon Death.” 

“Woah,” Dean said, holding a hand up. “ _Death_ death? Like--”

“The angel of, yes,” Sam said. 

“We’re so fucked,” Dean said, putting his face in his hands. “Of _course_ the angel of Death would be real. Of course Lucifer’s going to set him loose.”

“We _really_ have to kill Alastair,” Sam said. 

~~~

It was getting darker and darker out, midnight creeping closer and closer. Now that they knew that the ritual involved Death, the search for the site of the ritual had narrowed to any nearby graveyards, which should have been a big breakthrough. However, it appeared that Alastair had been anticipating having company, because large groups of demons were posted at all three of the nearest cemeteries, making it hard to tell which one was the chosen one. 

“Do we just go back to the largest cemetery?” Sam said at last. They were parked at the edge of the second-largest cemetery, where ten demons had been standing in a rough circle formation for the whole time they’d been watching. They weren’t moving at all, or doing anything that could tip them off as to what was happening. 

“Maybe,” Dean said. “Death probably likes more dead bodies, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Death can probably make as many new bodies as he likes.” 

Dean sighed, preparing to shift back into drive and head to the other cemetery, but then he spotted something. 

“Sammy, look,” he said, pointing to a new entourage of demons approaching the original ten. 

“You think that’s them?” Sam said. 

“We don’t know what Alastair looks like now, right?” Dean said, fishing through the glovebox, where he knew there were some long-neglected binoculars. “He could be one of those guys.” 

Dean scanned down the line of new arrivals, not sure what he was looking for. They all looked like demons to him, poorly-disguised, lower-level ones who wore their vessels uncomfortably and in such a way that their true faces showed through readily, if one knew how to look. None could be Alastair, who Dean swore he’d be able to recognize in any body, at any time. He was just about to put the binoculars down and tell Sam as much when his vision landed on the last demon in the line, and his blood ran cold. 

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, dread running through his body and making him unable to breathe for a moment. “It’s him.” 

“Alastair?” Sam said, leaning over to try to see. 

“No,” Dean said, eyes still glued to the binoculars, where he was seeing something he had never expected to see again, something he’d both longed for and feared in equal measure. “Well, yes, Alastair, but… who he’s wearing.” 

“Let me see,” Sam said, grabbing for the binoculars. Dean watched him scan down the line and realize the same thing Dean had. 

“ _Dad_?” Sam said incredulously. 

“It’s not Dad,” Dean said, taking another turn with the binoculars. “I don't think Dad's in there. It’s just Alastair. But... he’s in Dad.” 

“That’s not possible,” Sam said. 

“I guess it _is_ ,” Dean said. “I wonder if this is why we hadn’t heard from him in so long. He must have been rebuilding Dad’s body. I mean, Cas rebuilt mine. It must be possible to reconstruct bodies, if you really want to.” 

“But why?” Sam said. “Why would he go to all that trouble when he could possess anyone he wants to?” 

“It’s because of me,” Dean said. “He’s trying to fuck with me. He knew we would be here!” He put the binoculars down in alarm. “Wait, why did he know we would be here?” 

“He might not have known we’d be _here,_ specifically,” Sam said. “Maybe he was just guessing that he’d see us again in the future?” 

“I don’t think so,” Dean said, mind going a thousand miles a minute. “He’s a planner. Everything he does is for a specific reason. Why was he planning for us to be here, at this specific ritual?” 

“Wait, Dean, look,” Sam said, pointing out at the cemetery. More demons were converging on the spot, and at least a few of the new arrivals seemed to have prisoners in tow, figures with bags over their heads. “It’s past 11:30. Do we make a move?” 

“What can we possibly do against so many demons?” Dean mused. “The only thing we can do to get close to Alastair is to get ourselves captured, but that doesn’t seem like a good idea.” 

“My powers might work on him,” Sam said. “Or we could try to get the Colt? Alastair supposedly has it, right?” 

“The Colt won’t do anything against so many demons,” Dean said. “We could die fighting, but even if we take Alastair down, who’s to say one of his cronies won’t finish the job?” 

“I think we need to try something, at least,” Sam said. “We’re running out of time, and if they’re doing the ritual I found when I looked into it, it’s going to begin in a few minutes.” 

“Cas has been MIA,” Dean said. “He’s looking for God still, I think… where’s Ruby?” 

“Hasn’t checked back in in hours,” Sam said. “Definitely concerning, but I figure we should deal with this first, right?” 

“So it’s down to us,” Dean muttered. “Just us, just us…” 

In the distance, it looked as though hostages were switching hands and being arranged in some deliberate way. A large fire was burning in the center of the circle.

“We should probably try to do something _now,_ Dean,” Sam said. 

“I got it,” Dean said, snapping. “I have a kind of good, mostly terrible, plan.”

~~~

Sam had split off already, trying to get into a good position to attack Alastair. Dean was standing behind a tree, preparing to Be A Distraction. More demons were arriving by the minute, joining the original circle and stacking themselves so thickly that Dean could barely keep track of what was happening anymore. It was time. 

“All right, Michael, you son of a bitch,” Dean whispered. “I’m about to walk into an army of fucking demons, demons who hate me and want to tear apart this vessel you seem to love so much. If you’re serious about ‘being on my side,’ you’ll keep that from happening. If not… well… I’ll see you in hell, I guess. Prayer over. Amen.” 

Before he could lose his confidence, Dean pushed himself away from the tree and strode purposefully towards the group of demons. Getting closer, he could see that there was a large bonfire in the center of the circle, but he couldn’t make out much else. He needed to get much closer. 

“Hey!” he shouted. “I want to talk to you, Alastair!” 

The demons nearest to him turned around, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and malice. At a cue Dean couldn’t see, they parted down the middle, allowing Dean to walk right up to the bonfire where the hostages were. He saw that his father was standing with his back turned, murmuring over a boiling pot of something. There was a beat as he finished, throwing something else into the pot that caused it to spark wildly, and then he turned around.

“Dean-o,” Alastair said, in his father’s pleasantly deep voice, as casually as if Dean had just gotten home from school to find him back from a hunt. “He used to call you that, didn’t he? How adorable.” 

“I get that you’re obsessed with me, Alastair, I really do,” Dean said, holding out his arms. “But I don’t see why you needed to rebuild my father’s body. Kind of pathetic.” 

“Oh, Dean-o, everything I do is for a reason,” Alastair said, the demon’s gruesome face breaking slightly through the visage of his father. “Hey, what do you think your father would say now, if he could talk? Do you think he’d like that stud in your ear? Do you think he’d like to hear about what you did in hell?”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Dean said. “What matters is what _you’re_ doing. What happened to the Antichrist, Alastair? Do you really think it’s good PR to kill a baby?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about the Antichrist, Dean-o,” Alastair said. “It’s, er…” he glanced at the pot, holding up the Colt casually. “It’s too late for him. But it’s _not_ too late for you! We can still have some fun before you die.”

Around them, the other demons were moving, some just acting as a wall and others moving around the other hostages, drawing on the ground and carving into their skin. 

“Shall we do some RPing with Daddy Dearest, here, while we have a moment?” Alastair continued. “Anything you’d like to tell him? Anything you’d like off your chest before Death comes and we all go back to hell?”

Dean glanced frantically around, looking for something, anything that could help. He’d been counting on the Antichrist still being alive, but it seemed that the other hostages wouldn’t be very helpful -- there was a barely-corporeal reaper, a demon, an assortment of monsters. And Sam hadn’t made his move yet.

“I’ll get you started,” Alastair said. “Okay, why don’t we pretend that you just came out to your father. You just told him that you’re fucking that abominable angel who sprung you from hell. Repeat after me: ‘Dad, guess what, your precious all-American son is taking it up the ass from a fairy angel’-- oh, you don’t want to repeat after me, Dean-o? Okay, well let’s pretend you did, and then _I_ say--” his voice deepened slightly, matching John’s exactly “-- Son, I’m real disappointed in you. I raised you to be a hunter, and you insist on this ridiculous rebellion -- why? You’re supposed to be the good son. You’re supposed to be there for Sam.” 

Dean ground his teeth, trying to tune Alastair out, trying to remind himself that the face he was wearing wasn’t really his father’s, but it was nearly impossible to not get sucked into the farce at least a little bit. 

“Oh, and Dean, _now_ that John brought up Sammy, we can segue into you getting yelled at for allowing your brother to become Lucifer’s true vessel, won’t that be fun? Do you want to get us started off with that?” 

If there was a time to act, it was now. Dean didn’t have a watch, but it had to be nearly midnight, and Sam was still nowhere to be found. 

“Sammy!” Dean shouted. 

“Oh, did you think we hadn’t found Sam immediately?” Alastair said, giggling. “How adorably naive. Bring him out, boys.”

A few demon lackeys came forward with a final hostage Dean hadn’t been able to see at first. They pulled the thick bag off his head, revealing a comatose Sam, who slouched forward and nearly hit the ground. 

“He’s the last ingredient,” Alastair informed Dean. “We need his blood to summon Death, you see. Really very kind of you to bring him to us. I can always count on you, Dean-o.” 

Two black-clad demons cut into Sam’s arms at the same time, collecting the blood into two identical glass vials. Dean rushed forward on impulse, desperate to try to revive his brother, but three demons came from behind him to hold his arms back, leaving him flailing. 

“You might not want to fight this, Dean,” Alastair said conversationally. “I’m about to have Death on a leash, after all. You wouldn’t want to make me mad.” 

A demon who had been standing attentively at Alastair’s side came forward silently, showing him a fancy pocket watch. Alastair nodded. 

“It’s time,” he said authoritatively. “Twenty seconds to midnight.”

The demons not restraining Dean and Sam rushed around, pouring all the remaining ingredients into the large pot, which glowed and shook slightly. Alastair moved to stand in front of it, holding his hands up and chanting in a language that sounded older than time itself, his stolen face lit up by the bonfire in a pantomime of holiness. The demons around all sank to their knees in tandem as he said the last word, bowing deeply before the fire. There was a loud, sudden burst of lightning, and then nothing. 

“It’s starting,” Alastair said. 

The ground next to the fire began to split in an alarmingly perfect crack. Dean broke free of the demons holding him to pull his brother back from the growing cavern. Alastair noticed Dean had broken free, and moved towards him, but was halted by a sudden disturbance in his ranks caused by a blue, glowing body crashing into the wall of cloaked demons. Dean turned to watch and saw two more following, causing the demons to fan out in confusion. 

With a high-pitched noise not unlike the sound of nails on a chalkboard, the first figure put a still-glowing hand to the nearest demon's head and smote it, causing it to sink to the ground in a burnt-out husk. The figure turned so that Dean could get a better view, still burning so bright that he couldn’t see any distinguishing facial features. But what he could make out was the faint appearance of black wings, thrown into relief by the blue light coming from the center of the angel.

“Michael sends his regards,” the angel said, in a light growl. Beside him, the second angel smote another demon, and the demonic ranks spread further, some running for the trees and others using their comrades as body blockers. 

“Stand and fight, you fools,” Alastair yelled, sounding for all the world like his father had, whenever Dean had done something stupid and failed to take care of his brother. The third angel landed in front of Alastair, drawing a huge sword that sparked and glowed in the night.

Taking advantage of Alastair’s temporary distraction, Dean tried again to revive his brother. 

“Sammy,” he said, shaking him gently. “Sammy, we need to get out of here.” 

Sam’s eyes slipped open, looking almost blue in the strange, angel-lit night. He seemed out of it, but focused on Dean quickly. 

“Get out?” he murmured. 

“Yeah, we need to run,” he said. “It’s too late. Death is rising.” A quick glance at the hole in the ground revealed that it was getting larger, swallowing the bodies of the now-dead hostages as it expanded outwards.

“Oh,” Sam said idly. “Death.” 

“Come on,” Dean said, dragging Sam through a break in the skirmishing angels and demons. He couldn’t tell who was winning the fight, but a quick glance showed that Alastair was taking on two of the angels himself, seemingly putting up a good fight, while the other angel was plowing through the lesser demons in a near-continuous burst of light and sound. It wouldn’t be long before either side remembered Sam and Dean, and they needed to be gone by then. 

“Did Michael come?” Sam slurred, on his feet now but still mostly being carried by Dean. 

“No, he sent some guys,” Dean said.

“Oh,” Sam said, his eyes falling shut again as he leaned on Dean and allowed himself to be deposited into the passenger seat. Dean vaulted into the driver’s seat and floored it, with no destination in mind other than _not here._

In the rearview mirror, Dean could still see bursts of light here and there, along with a white light that was building and building, seemingly coming from the ground itself. The impala was going as fast as it possibly could, and as Dean pressed the pedal to the metal, the speed inexplicably jumped even higher, just for a second. 

The radio crackled on, then off, as Dean felt a familiar presence settle into the impala.

“BE CAREFUL, DEAN WINCHESTER” Michael said, his deep voice cutting straight through Dean’s bones. “I CAN PROTECT YOU FROM MOST THINGS, BUT I CANNOT PROTECT YOU FROM MY BROTHER.”

Dean glanced at Sam in alarm, wondering if he had heard the archangel as well, but he was passed out, head bobbing limply against his shoulder. He wanted to try to wake him, see if he could hear it too, but before he could even consider it, the presence was gone, abruptly as it had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not realizing that Michael exclusively speaks in all caps from the beginning. I've gone back to previous chapters to correct this egregious oversight.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god what have I done
> 
> -
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bachelor_(American_TV_series)

**EXT, BACHELOR MANSION -- NIGHT**

The host of ABC’s hit franchise _The Bachelor,_ GABRIEL (archangel, deeply powerful), walks slowly through the mansions's Mediterranean garden, addressing an adoring audience. This is the second-last week of DEAN WINCHESTER (the Bachelor)’s journey to find love. Three contestants remain. 

GABRIEL

Folks, it’s been a truly incredible journey so far, watching Dean Winchester, America’s most eligible bachelor, on his quest to both find love _and_ determine the fate of the world. For anyone just now joining us, let’s get re-acquainted with our remaining contestants. 

Cut to a FLASHBACK SEQUENCE. Wide panning shot of Dean, looking thoughtful and standing beside his car, on a scenic desert road. 

DEAN 

My name is Dean Winchester, I’m a hundred thirty years old and I’m… 

_(he squints at a prompt)_

DEAN (con't)

I’m ready to “find love and settle this whole Apocalypse thing once and for all”… ugh, _really?_

Cut to a series of quick shots of SAM WINCHESTER playing the role of LUCIFER. He flexes for the cameras, shows off his massive, skeletal wings, and winks at the camera as a building behind him explodes. 

SAM/LUCIFER _(voiceover)_

I just want what’s best for the world, and luckily, what’s best for the world is what’s best for Dean, too. Who wants an absent God, anyways? Let _me_ stamp out the angels and bring in a new world order, one where we don’t need to constantly bend the knee to a father who couldn’t care less about us. 

Shot of Sam/Lucifer in an abandoned church, turning all the crosses upside down.

SAM/LUCIFER

Dean won’t admit it, but he was _happy_ in hell. I want him to choose me, so he can go back to being his true, authentic self. I mean, have you _seen_ that guy in a fight? He’s so bloodthirsty, _I_ almost feel outclassed by him.

Cut to a sequence of shots of an ATTRACTIVE BLONDE WOMAN playing the role of MICHAEL. He stands awkwardly, ignoring producer cues in favor of looking uncomfortable and angry. 

MICHAEL 

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, GABRIEL? WHY DID YOU PUT ME IN THIS STRANGE BODY? SHE CANNOT CONTAIN ME FOR LONG. I DO NOT CARE FOR THIS FARCE.

Cut to a shot of CASTIEL, walking through the Mediterranean garden, following a bumblebee, his trenchcoat flapping gently in the wind.

CASTIEL 

No, I don’t want Dean to turn into a demon, or say yes to Michael. I know him, and I know he won’t do either of those things, no matter how much a certain _someone_

_(he glares directly into the camera)_

CASTIEL (con’t)

tries to make him. 

Cut to a sequence of shots of Dean and Castiel sitting on two adjacent park benches by a lake. Dean and Castiel sitting in the Impala. Castiel standing over Dean’s bed in the dark. 

CASTIEL

How did you get that footage? 

GABRIEL _(from behind the camera)_

Doesn’t matter. Why don’t you fill the audience in on your more _romantic_ feelings towards our Bachelor?

CASTIEL _(flustered)_

I -- I don’t see how that would be relevant. 

Quick set of shots with Dean drinking beer with his brother, getting freed from heaven from Michael, being healed by Castiel.

GABRIEL _(voiceover)_

Who will this devastatingly handsome, morally gray young man pick? Will he succumb to the allure of Lucifer? Will he start feeling righteous again, and pick Michael? Or will he, masochistic as ever, attempt to pick Castiel, and remain human as the world slowly slides into decay? Stay tuned to find out.

**INT, STUDIO -- DAY**

CHEERS and APPLAUSE as the recap ends and transitions to the live segment, where Gabriel is already seated before a STUDIO AUDIENCE. Dean enters, avoiding eye contact with the audience, and sits across from Gabriel. 

GABRIEL _(smiling and waving at the audience)_

Thank you, thank you all so much for being here. We figured this would be a good time to sit down with our Bachelor to get his thoughts on the journey so far, going into Fantasy Suites. Dean, how are you feeling? Do you have any idea who your final rose is going to go to?

DEAN _(quietly)_

Gabriel, I swear to god, if you don’t let me go--

GABRIEL _(charmingly)_

Sorry, you must not have heard my question! I said, do you have any idea who your final pick is going to be? I mean, you have some pretty incredible choices before you.

DEAN _(smiling passive aggressively)_

Well, one of those choices happens to be _my brother_ , which makes this a little--

GABRIEL

No, no, Dean-o, he’s Lucifer now, remember?

DEAN

He still looks a lot like my brother! That’s a tough one to get past, plus, you know, he’s _the literal devil._

GABRIEL

Ooh, so you're definitely planning on sending him home this week? Are we getting a spoiler?

The studio audience _ooohs._

DEAN

Yeah, I guess, consider yourselves spoiled. I’m not about to join up with the devil and become a demon, thanks. 

GABRIEL

How disappointing for the forces of hell to lose out on this _fine_ piece of ass here. But what about Michael, Dean, how are we feeling about him?

DEAN

Michael already knows how I feel about him. I’m not saying yes to him either. 

The audience makes sympathetic noises.

GABRIEL _(shaking his head)_

Such a shame, such a shame. He’s a huge fan favorite, you know. Incredible physique. Alluring voice. And, to boot, such a noble cause.

DEAN

You’re not changing my mind here, Gabriel. 

Audience boos. 

DEAN _(indignant, addressing the audience)_

What the hell? You guys want the world to be [BLEEP]ing leveled? 

GABRIEL _(placatingly)_

Why don't we move on to a happier topic, hmm? Michael will have his opportunity to change your mind later, during his Fantasy Suite date, but for now, why don’t we talk about Castiel?

Studio audience begins clapping and whooping enthusiastically. 

DEAN

 _Cas_ is my third option here?

GABRIEL

Aww, you already have a cute nickname for him. Yes, Dean, Castiel is your third option. What do you have to say about that?

DEAN _(putting his face in his hands)_

This is a dirty joke.

GABRIEL

Nope, just your life!

_(awkward pause as Dean tries not to betray any emotion)_

GABRIEL (con't)

So, should we take this reaction as a confirmation that Castiel is, indeed, a front runner in the race for your heart, despite the fact that he doesn’t offer any obvious means by which to save the world? Only promises to… “try to keep it the same”... God, how boring.

DEAN

Cas is the only person in this stupid show you’ve trapped us in that I’d want to talk to right about now, does that answer your question?

Studio audience applauds wildly. 

GABRIEL

I’d certainly say that it does! Now, why don’t we jump right into the Fantasy Suites portion of this week, starting with our front-runner, Castiel?

DEAN

What’s a fantasy suite?

**EXT, PATIO -- NIGHT**

DEAN and CASTIEL, both in black tie, are sitting at an immaculately staged table, with beautifully arranged food, upwards of 100 scented candles, and lanterns hanging from the nearby trees. Dean is holding a heavily calligraphied CARD in his hand, looking puzzled. 

DEAN

What the--

CASTIEL

Did you just appear here, as well?

DEAN

Yeah, Cas, what the [BLEEP] is this bull[BLEEP]? How’d Gabriel find us? Are you really you?

CASTIEL (grimly)

Unfortunately, yes. I am really me. I believe the forces of heaven have spies everywhere. They likely spotted us and brought us here for… whatever this is. 

A PRODUCER cuts in, telling them to start talking about more “TV-ready” content. 

DEAN _(to the producer)_

Are you trapped here too, lady?

The producer looks concerned and begins talking urgently to the other crew members around her. 

CASTIEL _(to Dean)_

I think we’re supposed to play this out. Act how Gabriel wants us to. 

DEAN

I don’t even know what that dude wants, half the time. 

CASTIEL

It appears that this time, what he wants is for you to pick a side.

DEAN

Michael’s side?

CASTIEL

I’m not so sure. Some of the angels are getting tired of the constant skirmishes, with no real results. Angels and demons are fighting all the time, at great cost to both sides, but nothing is getting accomplished. There was so much talk of a Lucifer and Michael fight, but some are losing faith that it will even result in a winner. Many believe the war will drag on forever. Some want an end to the war, even more than a victory for their side.

DEAN

So, what, he wants me to pick… Lucifer? Does it matter to him at all that Sam still hasn’t said yes? I’m not the only holdup here.

CASTIEL

I don’t know. I think he just wants you to pick anyone, as long as you do it now. 

The producer finishes conferring with the others in the crew, and asks Dean to just read the contents of the DATE CARD he’s holding in his hand. 

DEAN _(flipping the card over)_

Date card…? Oh, god.

CASTIEL

What does it say?

DEAN _(reading off the card)_

Dean and Castiel, should you choose to forgo your individual rooms, you may spend the night together in the "fantasy suite," where you can test your physical connection if you choose to.

CASTIEL

Physical connection?

DEAN _(frustrated)_

What is this? Is this actually a real TV show? They can’t actually air something like this, right? Did Gabriel make this up?

The producer tells Dean that they don’t air what happens in the fantasy suites, leaving it up to viewer imagination.

DEAN

Do people seriously [BLEEP] on national television, with cameras right outside the door? That’s insane. We’re not doing this. 

_(he throws the card down)_

CASTIEL 

Or…

DEAN

Or?

CASTIEL

Well, Gabriel stuck us in the universe, so he can probably hear everything that happens in it, right? It seems like a shame to not make him as uncomfortable as possible, since we can't escape anyways. 

DEAN

Are you saying…

CASTIEL _(leaning over to whisper in his ear)_

I’m going to make you scream.

**EXT, GARDEN -- THE NEXT MORNING**

Wide shot of Dean leaving the Fantasy Suite, looking smug and walking aimlessly around the garden.

DEAN _(voiceover)_

From a purely sexual standpoint, Castiel is the obvious winner. I mean, sure, his competition is my literal brother, and an archangel who wants to possess me, so it’s not like he’s up against the best of bunch, but still, what he accomplished last night was truly something spectacular. I really hope that Gabriel feels good about trapping us here and making us do all those truly _deranged_ things.

MICHAEL approaches Dean from a distance, still in the attractive blonde vessel, though he now has several burn marks up and down his arms. 

MICHAEL

HELLO, DEAN WINCHESTER. 

DEAN

No offense, Michael, but I’m not very happy to see you.

MICHAEL

I APOLOGIZE. MY BROTHER DOES NOT AGREE WITH MY DECISION TO LET YOU COME TO ME VOLUNTARILY. HE TIRES OF WAR, I BELIEVE.

DEAN

Hmm. Nice vessel, man.

MICHAEL _(looking at his arms in disgust)_

SURELY YOU SEE NOW THAT YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN HELP ME DEFEAT LUCIFER AND END THIS NIGHTMARE. SEE HOW THIS FEEBLE BODY CRUMBLES.

DEAN

Doesn’t change my mind. I’m not saying yes to you, and Sammy's not saying yes to Lucifer. It ain't happening.

MICHAEL _(pleased)_

OH, DEAN WINCHESTER, THERE IS SOMETHING YOU DO NOT KNOW. YOUR BROTHER HAS ALREADY SAID YES TO MY BROTHER. IT IS TOO LATE TO STOP HIM.

DEAN

Well, that’s just not true. I mean, he’s acting like Lucifer now, because your _other_ brother is making us act out this weird fantasy of his, but it’s not real.

MICHAEL

IT _IS_ REAL, DEAN WINCHESTER, IT IS NO FANTASY. YOU AND I MUST ACT NOW, BEFORE LUCIFER CREATES MORE DAMAGE THAT CANNOT BE REVERSED. HE HAS ALREADY CHAINED DEATH TO HIM. THE DAMAGE THAT HE CAN DO WITH DEATH’S POWER IS UNSPEAKABLE. SAY YES, DEAN. THE WORLD DEPENDS ON IT.

DEAN

You really expect me to just believe you that Sammy turned, without any proof? 

MICHAEL

I HAVE NEVER LIED TO YOU. 

DEAN

Hmm, I think I’ve heard that one before. I want to talk to my brother.

Transition to the next scene. SAM/LUCIFER stands in the middle of the rose garden, holding a rose. 

DEAN

Sammy?

SAM/LUCIFER

Guess again.

DEAN

Okay, okay, I get it. You’re pretending to be Lucifer, right? Because Gabriel is making us?

SAM/LUCIFER

No, this is real, Dean. This is inevitable. How can I convince you…?

DEAN

You _want_ to convince me?

SAM/LUCIFER

Oh, Dean, of course I do. I want you to say yes to Michael. Until I defeat him in combat, he’ll never see that my way is the right way. He’ll never stop trying to destroy me. I wish he could see reason, but he can’t, so unfortunately, you have become a very important puzzle piece. I need you to fall into place. Can you do that for me?

DEAN _(swallowing)_

Sorry, I just don’t buy all that. 

SAM/LUCIFER

Hmm. I see the problem. Now is not the right time, is it? Poor Gabriel. These family squabbles are so hard for him to bear. He just wants it to end.

He claps his hands once, and GABRIEL appears at the edge of the garden.

SAM/LUCIFER

It was a good try, little brother, but you need to let us go now. It’s not the right time. Dean isn’t ready.

GABRIEL

It doesn’t matter if he’s not ready. 

_(turning to Dean)_

Why is this so hard for you, buddy? You got all these supernatural beings fighting over you, and all you have to do is pick one. Just end it, already. Aren’t you tired of the act? I know I am.

DEAN

I have to pick one? If I pick one, you’ll let us all go?

GABRIEL

_Yes._

DEAN

So I can pick Cas?

GABRIEL _(sighing)_

Picking Cas only prolongs the inevitable.

DEAN

So why did you even make him an option, then?

Gabriel glances quickly at Lucifer, then grabs Dean by the arm. The two disappear from the rose garden, and appear in a BROOM CLOSET. 

GABRIEL _(still holding Dean’s arm, whispering)_

Listen, Dean, I thought it might come to this. My brothers don’t know, but there is actually a third option.

DEAN _(confused)_

Cas…?

GABRIEL

No, not Castiel, he’s just a front. God, could you _be_ more obsessed with him? No, the real answer is to look beyond just Lucifer and Michael. Who else is powerful?

DEAN

… You? 

GABRIEL

No! I mean, yes I am, but no, I’m not willing to fight either of my brothers. That’s just not _me_. Think more along the lines of... massively powerful third parties.

DEAN

God is missing… 

GABRIEL

Yes, so who’s left? Who just got let out of his cage?

DEAN

Do you mean… Death?

GABRIEL _(taps his nose)_

Bingo. He doesn’t actually _want_ to be on Lucifer’s side, you know. Lucifer’s got him chained for now, but if you can track Death down, you might find that he’s more sympathetic than you think. He despises these earthly squabbles, considers them beneath him. 

DEAN

Death would actually help us?

GABRIEL

Well, he’d see it more as breaking his chain to Lucifer and restoring the world to its natural order, but, yeah, it should accomplish the same thing. Really, raising Death could be Lucifer’s greatest mistake. Could actually lead to his downfall, if you take advantage of it. 

DEAN _(nodding)_

Okay, I’ll track Death down. Thanks for the tip. Can I go now?  
  


GABRIEL _(grabbing his arm)_

One more thing. Do _not_ tell your brother about this plan, for the love of all that is holy. Castiel is fine to talk to, but do _not tell Sam._

DEAN

Uh--

GABRIEL

Promise me you won’t tell Sam, or I’ll march you back to Michael and make you say yes right now.

DEAN

Fine! I promise. 

Gabriel nods, and puts his fingers to Dean’s forehead. Fade to BLACK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was originally planning to have chapter 10 out tomorrow, but I got a migraine today so it might not be done in time :/


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel hadn’t come to visit in weeks. He wasn’t answering his cell phone, or Dean’s whispered prayers. Dean didn’t know what to do. 

“He’s probably just busy,” Sam said dismissively, when Dean voiced his concerns. “He’s an angel, Dean. I’m sure he has more important things to do than answer his cell phone.” 

“He wouldn’t just drop off the face of the earth like this,” Dean argued . “He could be in danger.”

“Again, he’s an angel. Not that much can hurt him, right?” 

“Weren’t you  _ there  _ when Gabriel up and trapped us all? An archangel could have gotten him.  _ Lucifer  _ could have gotten him.”

“I don’t think Lucifer cares much about Cas, Dean.” 

Dean tried to convince himself that Sam was right, that Cas wasn’t a big enough fish to get seriously hurt, and not a small enough fish to get bested by a run-of-the-mill demon, but he couldn’t quite believe it. His sleeping schedule, already bad enough to begin with, got worse and worse with each day of radio silence. Every little creak in the night caused him to jolt awake, believing that Cas had finally returned. His dreams, which had always been of hell, now always featured Cas slipping through his fingers, left to rot while Dean broke free unknowingly. He was exhausted at all times, and had trouble focusing on the mission Gabriel had given him. He read all of Bobby’s most ancient and important books, but the words seemed to be in another language, a language Dean had once known but recently forgotten.

But it wasn’t as if he would have known what to say, even if he could have tracked down Death. He couldn’t ask Sam for help -- he both trusted and distrusted Gabriel’s assessment that Sam couldn’t be let in on this. Gabriel’s cautionary words had rung true, but Dean was  _ supposed  _ to trust his brother, right? He had forgotten how in hell, but last he checked, he was supposed to be trying to remember. 

It would have been nice to ask Cas what he thought about the Sam thing, but that brought him back to the original problem. 

Out of his mind with exhaustion and the stress of keeping secrets from his brother again, Dean finally confided in Bobby. He cornered him on a rare slow day, while Sam was safely inside going through shelves of Bobby’s ancient books and Bobby was rifling through a mostly-abandoned tool shed that may or may not have some ingredient he was looking for. 

Bobby was alarmingly blasé about the situation Gabriel had laid out, at first. 

“Finding Death seems just about as insane as a freakin’ apocalypse,” he said, his upper half still buried in the dusty shed, loud clattering sounds coming from within. “You may as well try it.”

“ _ How,  _ Bobby?” Dean said in despair. “I mean, does Death even have a body? Is Death just… a guy? There are thousands of supposed ‘spells’ to summon Death, because every self-respecting witch or satanist has their own method, but Alastair had to murder the fucking Antichrist to  _ actually _ summon Death. I’m not willing to murder a baby, Bobby.” 

“Hmm,” Bobby said. A large crash came from inside the shed, and Dean witnessed a dusty metal box tumble from the highest shelf to the floor, hitting nearly every other item possible on its journey down. “Maybe you don’t summon Death. Maybe you just try to figure out where he’s going to be.” 

“I thought of that,” Dean said with a nod. “But Death could be anywhere in the world, right? Plus, the skirmishes between angels and demons are generating all kinds of omens already. It’d be nearly impossible to figure out which are because Death’s in town, and which are just from everything else.” 

“What’s that angel pal of yours got to say about all this?” Bobby said. “Seems like his kind of thing.” 

“He’s still gone,” Dean said through gritted teeth. 

“Hmm,” Bobby said again, perhaps sensing Dean’s distress regarding the topic. “You want to talk about it, princess?”

“No,” Dean said. “Sam thinks it’s not a big deal. Cas was after the leader of his old garrison… Anna, he said her name was… maybe that’s where he is.” 

Bobby briefly emerged from the shed, looking as if he may be about to say something meaningful, but then he awkwardly swallowed whatever it was and dove back into the shed. 

“If you want to go after him before tracking down Death, maybe you try to find Anna,” he said. “Seems like you care about this guy. Might be worth it.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said. Stupidly, it hadn’t occurred to him to try to track down Anna -- he’d assumed that if Cas couldn’t find her, he wasn’t going to have luck either. But there was a chance that Cas  _ had  _ found Anna after all. It was definitely better to try to find Anna than to sit morosely around and wait for a visitor that might never come. “I think it’s worth a try. Don’t tell Sam about the Death thing, okay?”

Bobby squinted. “You really believe Gabriel that Sam can’t be trusted?” 

“I don’t know, Bobby,” Dean said. “A part of me hasn’t trusted him since… well, since I got back from hell. I know I’m probably being paranoid, but this feels too big to take a chance on. Plus…” he trailed off. 

“Plus what?” Bobby said. 

“Alastair knew we were coming, the night Death was raised,” Dean spit out. “And he used Sam’s blood for the ritual. I don’t trust Ruby for a second, never have, so I can blame her for Alastair knowing we would be there. But why did he need  _ Sam’s  _ blood, specifically? And if he needed Sam’s blood, don’t you think the demons would have just tried to capture him? Why take the chance that we’d catch the trail and show up? Alastair doesn’t normally take chances like that.” 

“It does seem strange that Alastair would bother rebuilding your daddy’s body just on a whim,” Bobby said. 

“I told Sam it didn’t make sense, and he just brushed it off,” Dean said. 

“Look, kid, you have good instincts, when you’re not being an idjit,” Bobby said. “I won’t tell him about this if you don’t want me to.” 

“Thanks Bobby,” Dean said, heading back to the house. 

Having a different mission to fail miserably at was already making him feel slightly better than he had before.

~~~

In late June, the angel Anna was spit out of hell and onto the Teton Crest trail, a northern Wyoming gem often ranked one of the best trails in the US. She took on the body of Clarice Milton, a proficient backpacker who had successfully solo hiked the Appalachian Trail the previous year. Clarice was a well-adjusted twenty-something who didn’t have a religion beyond a vague and somewhat uninformed belief in “karma.” She would never have said “yes” to Anna. Luckily, Anna had been in hell for just under two hundred years, and didn’t need permission anymore. 

Anna laid low for months, under strict instructions to not be noticed by anyone, demon, angel, or both. There were a few close calls where she was nearly recognized, but the relative solitude of the trail, her complete indifference to food and fresh water, and an ability to bear boredom that she’d learned in hell made her good at waiting out of sight. 

She got her sign that it was time for action late in September, when a comet crossed the clear Wyoming sky at 12:03 AM and flashed impossibly purple for a blink of the eye. Unleashed at last to do what she’d returned to earth for, she slashed the throat of a backpacker who had set up his tent near Clarice's, and used his blood to send a message. His partner stayed asleep through the whole thing, influenced by Anna’s curdled and rotten grace. She left the drained corpse in his sleeping bag beside his partner, knowing it was “wrong” to do so but not really seeing the point in avoiding “wrong” anymore. 

Message sent, she began her more important quest. After all, the other angels needed to hear all about what she’d learned in hell. And the only other angel she personally knew who’d escaped hell seemed as good a place to start as any. 

~~~

Dean couldn’t tell Sam about the Death problem, but he told Sam about the Anna problem with gusto, as if it would make up for his other omissions. Sam misinterpreted his relief at telling one less lie for relief at finding a lead on Cas’s location, and readily agreed to track Anna down. 

“Maybe we can try praying to her?” Sam suggested. “That usually works on Cas, right?” 

“Cas knows me, though,” Dean said. “I was thinking more along the lines of tracking her down. Cas was pretty sure she was on earth, so she should be within reach.” 

“Do we just search up any mention of the name ‘Anna’?” Sam said. “That seems pretty tough. Angels don’t have last names, right?” 

“Don’t think so,” Dean said. “I think we just search recent news articles. Maybe we catch a break for once.”

Against all odds, they  _ did  _ catch a break. There was an article about a backpacker who had recently been murdered in Wyoming, while his wife allegedly slept beside him. The wife’s story hadn’t been believed -- who could possibly sleep through their husband being murdered, anyways? She was being held in custody as a murder suspect, but she kept insisting that someone named “Anna” had actually done it. Her persistent belief wasn’t taken very seriously, because the way she knew “Anna” had done it was a very vivid dream she had had the night of the murder. Dean and Sam took her dream much more seriously than the local police had. 

“Do we really think Anna went darkside?” Dean said. “Murdering a rando? Doesn’t seem very angelic.” 

“She could have,” Sam said. “According to Cas’s story, she was captured by demons, right? That’s probably enough to break anyone.” 

“Fuck,” Dean said, thinking of Cas barreling towards Anna, who had been his friend, only to get torn apart just like the backpacker had been. He suddenly remembered the vision Zachariah had shown him, a vision of demonic angels with white halos and black eyes, and became convinced that was what they were up against. He let his head fall into his hands. 

~~~

It seemed that Castiel had been waiting for a call from Anna for quite some time. She reached out to him through their garrison’s frequency, a frequency that had been silent ever since the failed expedition to hell, and he responded in a matter of seconds. 

She told him to wait for her at her favorite hot springs in Yellowstone, far off the path tourists were allowed to take, a collection of impossibly blue pools that steamed and smelled pleasantly of hell. She watched from a distance as the other angel arrived, looked around, concluded that she hadn’t yet arrived, and crouched at the edge of the largest spring. Wanting to test how long he’d wait, Anna continued to watch him for quite some time. He didn’t do anything interesting, just alternating between staring idly into the center of the spring, and thoughtfully sticking an arm or leg into the spring, just to see what would happen. 

Bored, and now convinced he had come alone, Anna flew to stand just behind him. He barely jumped at the sudden intrusion and looked up with a mild expression on his face. Anna saw a glimpse of his true form in his eyes, a few celestial bees buzzing around in the angel’s strikingly human head. 

“You’ve changed,” she said in surprise. 

“So have you,” he said. 

“You’ve changed in a way I didn’t expect,” she corrected. “So human. What happened, Castiel?” 

“I should be asking you that, don’t you think?” he said. It was clear now, if it hadn’t been at first, that he could see the truth in her eyes -- could see that she had gone bad. But it wasn’t clear what he was going to do with the information just yet. 

“You know what happened to me, Castiel,” she said. “They got to me. They got to all of us. Uriel… Samandriel… Hester… the whole garrison. All except you.” 

“Oh, Anna,” Castiel said, sympathy in his eyes. “What did they do to you?”

“What do you think?” she said. 

Castiel averted his eyes at that. Anna guessed that he hadn’t been expecting her to change in hell -- perhaps expecting that she had the force of will to survive intact. She was almost flattered by his misplaced faith in her. 

“I found the target,” Castiel said, in a transparent attempt to change the subject. “Dean Winchester walks the earth again.” 

“Why do you say his name like that?” Anna said. 

“That’s his name,” Castiel said. “How else am I supposed to say it?” 

Anna narrowed her eyes. “You like him, don’t you?” 

“He has a good heart,” Castiel said. “Why would I dislike him?” 

“Because he’s a human,” Anna said. Castiel used to dread being sent to earth, specifically because of the humans. Empires all around the world had risen and fallen, and still Castiel had never seemed to find a group of people he could easily fit into. Anna had long since gotten into the habit of relegating any tasks on earth to Uriel or Hester instead.

“I like humans,” Castiel lied. 

“No, you like _ this _ one human,” Anna said. “Do you also like Michael’s plan to use him to fight Lucifer, destroying the world and Dean Winchester’s soul in the process?” 

“Is that why you’ve come to talk to me?” Castiel asked. 

“Yes,” Anna said. 

“I’ll save you some time,” Castiel said. “I’m not joining forces with Lucifer. And Michael’s plans play no role in that decision.” 

“It’s the smart thing to do, Castiel,” Anna said earnestly. “Death has been freed. We can use his power to wipe the slate clean, start over. God is gone, and never coming back, but Lucifer is ready to step into the role, make a better world we can actually have influence over. I think we should let him.” 

“I will not join forces with Lucifer, not any more readily than I would join Michael,” Castiel said again. 

“Oh, Castiel,” Anna said. “You’re making a huge mistake. Do you realize what you’re doing to yourself, by throwing your lot in with the humans?  _ You’re  _ becoming human.”

“So be it,” Castiel said, in a peaceful tone of voice she couldn’t hope to recognize. The old Castiel, the Castiel she’d known, would have likely smited her on the spot for the disobedience she’d proposed, not proposed his own, alternate form of disobedience. She preferred the old Castiel -- would rather fight Castiel than debate him.

“What is this?” Anna hissed. “Why are you okay with that?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, looking up at the sky, as if expecting an answer would fall out. “I’ve been trying to do the right thing lately, you know. I never tried that before. I just assumed whatever you told me was the right thing.” 

“The right thing doesn’t matter, Castiel,” Anna said, her voice breaking slightly. “It’s a lie. All there is is the smart thing.”

“I suppose we will have to agree to disagree,” Castiel said, seeming a million miles away. Anna swallowed her frustration as best as she could, but it was a bitter thing to accept. Someone had gotten to Castiel before she had, corrupted him more thoroughly than she could hope to. 

“You’ll see soon,” she finally said, putting as much force into her voice as she possibly could. “You’ll lose more and more of your power, become more and more human, and then your survival instincts will finally kick back in. Then, you’ll come to me.” 

~~~

Dean decided that the reason he was no longer able to sleep was because of the sex -- or rather, the sudden absence of sex. Castiel had been coming by more often than he’d realized, their two-night-stand quickly becoming more of a twenty-night-stand, and it stood to reason that, with such a steady diet of exercise and endorphins, Dean had gotten used to being able to just roll over and go to sleep, pleasant exhaustion drowning out even the knowledge of the coming hell nightmares. But now, he had neither exercise nor endorphins. Of course he was so jumpy. Of course he was so malcontent. Of course he couldn’t sleep. 

Sex wasn’t a possible remedy for him until Cas got back, that was certain. He couldn’t imagine acting out the entire song and dance of going to a bar, finding some random person there, fucking them in some dark and sticky alleyway. Jerking off  _ should _ have been an option, but Dean suddenly found the idea so unappealing he couldn’t bring himself to even start. What was he supposed to think of, anyways? Random hot girls didn’t feel like a strong enough force anymore to take him out of his own head, not when he’d experienced perhaps the most distracting being in the world. He  _ could _ think of Cas, but the problem was, thoughts of Cas turned to worry so quickly that it was impossible to focus on the good things, like his voice, his soft skin, the earthy way the crook of his neck smelled, the way he would gently rub his fingers up and down Dean’s spine when they were done. The way he had never learned that you weren’t supposed to be gentle with casual twenty-night-stands. 

Trying to replicate the feeling of satisfying soreness and post-orgasm looseness, Dean got into the habit of doing intricate stretches and pushups on the floor of his room at three in the morning. It didn’t really work -- he still averaged about an hour of sleep, on a good night. His eyes were getting puffier and darker, and his mind foggier, as the sleep deprivation worsened. 

Following the most promising lead on Anna, he and Sam headed to Wyoming, with Bobby and Ruby in tow. Ever since the theory that Anna might have turned, the outcome for Team Earth was looking worse than ever. All four of them knew that if Lucifer could turn angels at will, the war between heaven and hell would only get bloodier. The world could still be wrecked beyond repair, even if Sam and Dean never said yes. 

They chased their tails around western Wyoming for a week. There were burnt-out bodies scattered around the area, consistent with smitings. A young, fit, redhead was spotted covered in blood at a gas station, before disappearing seemingly into thin air. They tried to track her down, but then other strange occurrences started cropping up -- a tourist from Japan who up and decided to leave her family. A massacre at a ranger station. Eight dead buffalo arranged in an octagon in the middle of a widely-trafficked road. A ten-second eclipse of the moon at entirely the wrong time of year for such a thing. A comet that observers claimed looked purple. 

For days, Dean missed the obvious clues. He was too close to the situation, and careening closer and closer towards a stress-induced collapse. He wondered if this was Death’s way of coming to him -- weakening him by taking away Cas, taking away his fragile trust in his brother, taking away his desire to eat and drink. He wondered if Death would pause a moment before claiming Dean to hear him out about the importance of stopping Lucifer and Michael. 

But Bobby, luckily, was not quite so tied up in feelings of doom and dread. He put the pieces together before Dean even realized that the pieces weren’t for the puzzle he’d first thought they were. 

“Look at this,” Bobby said, sitting them down one day with newspaper clippings of all the clues they’d gathered, plus a few Dean hadn’t seen yet. Apparently, there had also been a tornado just west of them, where tornadoes never were, as well as a blackout in all the nearby ski towns that had lasted exactly two hours. 

“We’ve been doing nothing but looking at this for days, Bobby,” Sam said, running a tired hand through his hair. It was getting long, Dean noted. The Sam of Dean’s memories, the Sam he still thought of first, had significantly shorter hair, and a softer face, with none of the sharp angles he had now. Dean still saw that Sam first whenever he pictured his brother.

“But we’ve been looking at the wrong thing,” Bobby said. “We’re looking for this angel, Anna, right? Well, she may be in town, all right. I don’t know. But what I do know is that a  _ different _ angel is in town.” 

Dean squinted at the newspaper clippings again. The entire region appeared to be bursting with power, overflowing into the very air around them. If so many strange phenomena were being written about, it was certain that there were many others that people just didn’t report, thinking they were insane. Hadn’t Dean, himself, seen a silvery bolt of lighting just the other day, on an otherwise sunny day? Hadn’t he seen a purple comet someplace before? 

“Lucifer,” Dean guessed. “Is that who you’re talking about?” 

Bobby let one of his old books he’d been reading out of fall open and put a heavy finger to the page. “All the omens match up with what’s in here,” he said. “I think he may have found a different vessel.” 

~~~

Ever since he’d clawed his way out of hell, Castiel had been waiting for the figurative "other foot" to drop. He wasn’t meant to be out, he knew that. He’d known that from the very moment he’d realized that the gap between the fabric of hell and earth could only fit Dean, had let go of Dean’s hand, delivered him into his rebuilt body, never to see him again. In hell, alone again, Castiel had found a dark, neglected corner and passed the next few years in solemn prayer, moving only when he feared he may be discovered. 

But one day, he’d opened his eyes and realized that he was back on earth. He had no idea who had raised him. Theoretically, any angel not mired in hell would have the power to do such a thing, but all the angels who cared about him were dead, so he thought. His first thought was his most optimistic -- it had been God. God actually cared about him, God actually existed. 

Of course, the more he learned about how deep both Lucifer and Michael’s plans went, the harder it became to believe that God could still be around, performing small miracles while also letting his sons destroy his creation. He’d still hunted for God, of course he had. But the truth was, his faith had waned even before Gabriel told him that God was gone. He’d been stunned to hear it, on a surface level, but if he really thought about it, he could admit that he hadn’t believed, deep down, that God had really rescued him, had really bothered to care about him. Good things  _ did  _ happen, but only when Castiel forced them to. 

The other angels had been circling him warily since his escape. A few of them -- Balthazar, Hannah, old friends from other garrisons -- kept him up to date, tried to integrate him into their own garrisons. He tried to be integrated, but found that it was too late. Doubt had set in, and nothing he did could make it go away. His long-standing tendency to be a little too free-thinking had gotten completely out of control, especially with Dean Winchester’s continued presence in his life. 

It would have been foolish to pretend that the angels would just let him slip through the cracks forever. They finally cornered him after Anna left him at the hot springs, and Castiel knew that this, finally, was the other foot dropping. It had been months since he had been back to heaven at that point, and the appearance of his siblings caught Castiel off guard. He hadn’t remembered them glowing so blue, even on earth. It was a miracle that any of them managed to pass as human, ever. 

The minor angels parted to reveal Zachariah, smiling smugly. Castiel thought that Zachariah had really done a phenomenal job finding a vessel just as smarmy as he was. 

“Consorting with a fallen angel, are you, Castiel?” he said. 

“No,” Castiel said. “I told her I wouldn’t work with her. She’s gone now.” 

“Of course,” Zachariah said, with false sympathy. “But you understand why we can’t believe you, right?” 

Two stone-faced angels appeared on his either side and grabbed his arms, smoothly putting him in a set of warded handcuffs. Castiel felt his wings wilt uselessly above him, felt his grace deaden down so that it no longer felt readily accessible to him. 

“Oh, don’t look so sad, Castiel,” Zachariah said. “You’re going to heaven.” 

~~~

Dean believed Bobby about Lucifer right away, but Sam and Ruby needed some convincing. 

“I’m supposed to be his only vessel, guys,” Sam said, for the twentieth time. “Isn’t that what all the angels say?”

“You don’t become the devil by being unimaginative,” Dean said. “Bobby’s argument makes sense, Sam. I think we have to assume that he’s found a body.” 

“What are we even supposed to do about that?” Ruby said. She’d been uncharacteristically silent through most of the debate, and now spit out her question as if she was nervous to ask it. “Do we even know how to kill him?” 

“I don’t know how a person would kill him,” Sam said. “Can he even die?” 

“Everything dies,” Dean said. “Except maybe Death.” 

Bobby gave him a look at that, and Dean shook his head subtly. 

“Maybe the omens are because of Anna,” Sam said. “She’s a fallen angel too, isn’t she? Shouldn’t we still be trying to find her?” 

“You really think she’s our biggest problem?” Bobby said, incredulous. Dean could tell that he was a little offended that Sam still wasn’t agreeing with him, despite his near-ironclad proof. Dean moved away to stand by the window, letting Bobby and Sam continue arguing, Ruby watching them with an ashen look. 

It was dark out -- nearly a new moon. Call it paranoia from excessive sleep deprivation, but it felt like the night was crawling with malevolence, more so than usual. Dean didn’t typically fear the night, but to not fear whatever was out there seemed like arrogance. So many forces older than time itself, so many that he was supposed to be standing up to, with his fallible, breakable body. It seemed too much to bear. It had been seeming that way for weeks. 

Dean’s gaze darted back to Sam, Bobby, and Ruby, still all thoroughly absorbed in their fight. Bobby’s brow was furrowed harshly, Sam’s voice raised a higher octave than usual. 

Looking back to the sky, Dean cleared his throat slightly. 

“Cas,” he mumbled, taking care to keep his voice low enough to not be heard. “If you can hear me, man, we could really use you.  _ I  _ could really use your help. I don’t know what I’m doing…” 

The shadows outside shifted slightly as a car passed the mostly-empty road outside the motel room. In the night, every single tree outside looked like an impossibly tall human figure, just waiting until Dean looked away to storm in. 

“We’re in Jackson, Wyoming,” Dean said. “Please, man.”

Outside, there was a thump, a thump so loud it shook the ground beneath Dean’s feet. 

“Guys,” he said, and started to turn around, but stopped as soon as he made eye contact with the woman who had just appeared in front of him -- a familiar redhead who’d come up when they dug into the “Anna” mystery. Behind her, Bobby and Sam were frozen in shock. 

“You called for an angel?” Anna said. Dean looked into her eyes and saw through them, much like he could do with demons, except Anna’s true face looked so different from the standard demon’s. It glowed black and looked almost  _ infected,  _ as if her face had been gouged open and never allowed to heal. Looking at Cas was like looking at a babbling brook, a hive of bees, a sunny break in the trees -- living things -- but looking at Anna was like looking at a carcass, killed by some uncaring predator and left to decay with most of its meat still on its bones. 

They hadn’t even figured out how they were supposed to fight Anna, if it came to that, if they ever found her. Bobby picked up a knife surreptitiously, but without even looking at him, Anna raised a hand, and the blade removed itself from Bobby's grip and impaled itself in the nearby wall. She made a waving motion again, and Bobby sank to the floor slowly, eyes rolling back in his head.

“I want to deal with Dean first,” she said, advancing on him. Dean moved to strike first, but she was so much stronger than the average demon, stopping his fist before it could make contact and firmly pushing his arm down. Dean heard a pop and felt a burst of pain, a burst of  _ wrong wrong wrong,  _ and guessed that she’d dislocated his shoulder. He groaned, tried to body slam her and not have the fight end embarrassingly early, but it seemed like it was too late. She threw him into a wall, and he landed on the ground with an unpleasant crunch. He tried to push himself up, but with one arm out of commission and an angel’s foot on his left leg, his efforts were useless. 

“So, this is Dean Winchester,” Anna said, sneering down at him. “Important enough to be freed from hell. Important enough to Castiel that he chooses to disobey his orders. I had expected to meet a great man, but the reality is shockingly anti-climactic.” 

Behind Anna, Sam was standing idly, Ruby beside him and Bobby’s limp form on the floor, ignored by them both. Why weren’t they helping? Sam wasn’t even looking at Dean, instead holding what looked like a whispered conversation with Ruby. 

“If I’m so boring,” Dean said, gritting his teeth. “Why are you bothering to throw me around? Why not let me go?” 

“Funny,” Anna said, moving her foot from Dean’s leg to the side of his face, pushing his face into the ground painfully. He couldn’t open his mouth all the way anymore, and was forced to gasp awkwardly through his lips. 

“Sam!” Dean called out, his voice muffled but still understandable. “A little help?” 

“Shut up,” Anna said, kicking hard at his teeth. Dean tasted metal. Seemingly satisfied with that, she took aim again and again, kicking the shit out of face with a vengeance. 

“Now,” Anna said. “How should I kill you? Bleeding out, maybe? That sounds like it would be fun.” 

“Wait, Anna,” Sam said in a diplomatic tone. “You can’t actually kill him.” 

Much to Dean’s surprise, Anna actually stopped at that, stepping back half a step away. “Why not?” she said, in a casual tone.

“Michael needs him,” Sam said. 

Dean thought he was, perhaps, hallucinating. Since when was Sam’s Reason Dean Should Be Alive to be used by Michael?

“Why do we want to hand him alive to Michael?” Anna said. “Isn’t that counterproductive? We could hide him away, weaken their side.” 

“Sam, what the fuck,” Dean tried to say, though his words were obscured by the copious amount of blood in his mouth and the swelling of his face that was already beginning. He felt something in his cheek, and spit out a tooth onto the bloodied motel floor. 

Sam looked at him, finally. He turned his head to one side and narrowed his eyes, as if he were thinking about something, and then he shrugged to himself as if to say “eh, fuck it.” He walked a few steps closer, crouching down to be on Dean’s level, and looked right into his eyes, his own wider than usual as if to exaggerate the point -- Dean was supposed to look at him. He did, shaking his head slowly in an attempt to communicate that he didn’t understand. Sam raised his eyebrows, and then Dean saw it. 

Sam wasn’t Sam -- there was someone else behind his eyes, eyes that were his but which housed another entity entirely. He was better disguised than most demons, but now that Dean could see it, he couldn’t unsee it. He pushed himself up with his good arm in a fast, panicked motion, as if he could still do something about it, still make the person in Sam go away. 

“How long?” Dean spat out. 

~~~

Castiel was in the white box. Dean had been right, he thought. It  _ was  _ like hell, but whiter. 

He was in there for weeks. He didn’t know how much time had passed, really, it could have been much shorter or much longer than a matter of weeks. It all depended on the whims of his superiors. 

He was finally disturbed by the last angel he would have expected to see. A door appeared in the box, unlocked itself, and swung open to reveal a smirking Gabriel. 

“How many times I gotta free you, little bro?” he said, gesturing for Castiel to follow him. 

“You’re freeing me?” Castiel said, getting to his feet slowly. “Why? I thought the discipline hadn’t even begun.” 

“Because,” Gabriel sighed, “you’re the middle option, Castiel.” He came over to take his arm and pull him the rest of the way up. “I’m the Archangel of the Middle Option, and you’re my only footsoldier. I need you on earth, where you belong. Not here, and not hell.”

“Wait,” Castiel said. He was suddenly realizing something, something that he felt he should have realized before. “It was you, wasn’t it?” 

“What was me?” Gabriel said, smirking. Castiel knew it was a conformation, just as much as he knew that he had a repressed memory of Gabriel doing this exact same thing for him once before.

“You freed me from hell.” 

“Don’t let it be in vain, little brother,” Gabriel said, pulling him over the threshold of the box and letting Castiel drop. 

~~~

“How long?” Dean said again. Lucifer had stood up to his full height, spine straight in a way Sam’s never was. 

“Ever since the last seal broke,” Lucifer said, shrugging. “Give or take a few minutes.” 

“And… how?” Dean said. “We didn’t even know--”

“Oh, Sammy knew,” Lucifer corrected. “Sammy’s known since before you got out of hell.” 

“What--”

“How do you think you got out of hell in the first place, Dean?” Lucifer said. “You think it was because of that angel of yours? No chance, buddy. He doesn’t have the mojo to free you… unless  _ someone  _ were to weaken the barrier between hell and earth, for just one person. Unless that someone were to allow Castiel to overhear that there was a point in the fabric of hell that was thinner than usual. Unless that someone had left Castiel alive in hell for years, anticipating this very thing.”

“Sam made a  _ deal  _ with you?” Dean said. 

“Of course he did, Dean,” Lucifer said. “You know, it was so sad, really. None of the other demons would deal with him. Someone had given them orders not to deal with Winchesters. But then along comes Ruby, winning his trust, helping him cope with the loss of his brother, sleeping with him to fill the void…” He looked over at Ruby and smiled. She smiled back indulgently. “And Ruby starts to see clues that Lucifer might be coming back. She tells Sam that Lucifer’s the only one in hell who will possibly deal with him. She finds a helpful little spell that allows them to talk to me. And then… voila.” He spun around, arms out, as if to show off his new form. “Sam agrees to my conditions. His brother gets freed, if he says yes to me as soon as I come to him.” 

“Did he know what he was agreeing to?” Dean said, trying to muster all the malice he could. He couldn’t believe the piece of shit in front of him had ever managed to pass as his brother.

“He knew enough,” Lucifer said with a shrug. 

By the doorway, Anna flinched slightly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, and a golden dart pierced through it, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Ah,” Lucifer said, looking mildly curious. “How kind of you to join us, Castiel.” 

Anna’s body slid to the ground, rancid smoke curling its way out of her mouth and into the air, where it didn’t dissipate but instead floated away in one coherent swirl. Cas stood behind her with a long spear in his hands and a smoldering look in his eyes. 

“Are we doing this, really?” Lucifer said, rolling his eyes. 

“Let these boys go,” Castiel said slowly. 

“I will, I will,” Lucifer said, in the tone of a boy being scolded by his mother. “I already said that, which you’d know if you hadn’t been late. Well, I’m letting Dean go, at least. Bobby seems like an unnecessary piece of the puzzle.”

Cas charged forwards at that, spear inches from Lucifer’s chest. Lucifer held up his hands in mocking surrender. 

“Him too,” he growled. 

“Fine, god,” Lucifer said. He swirled one of his hands, and Dean saw white. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel blades are out, angel spears are in
> 
> I had mentioned a few chapters back that I was going to mostly stick to posting a chapter a day. As it turns out, god had a good laugh at that one and made my health issues(TM) rear their ugly heads, so never mind. However, I AM still trying to get these next 5 chapters out asap! I just don't want to half ass them :)


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel pulled Dean away from the rack for the last time on the first day of Dean’s ninety-ninth year in hell. Dean had no way of knowing the significance of the day, of course, and neither did Castiel. Time in hell passed in a way completely indifferent to humans and their normal circadian rhythms.

“This is a trap,” Dean said dumbly, as he was led away. “Where are you taking me?” In his head, Castiel was secretly working for Alastair, somehow, and Dean was about to be punished for “plotting” to escape. Never mind that the angel had been driving the escape plan since day one.

“It’s not a trap,” the angel said, for the hundredth time. “You need to be quiet for a moment.”

The bubble Dean was in was normally so small, just him, the souls before him, and whichever weapons he wished to appear behind him. Dean had never thought to walk around the edge of the bubble, but as Castiel led him further away, the bubble began to warp, as if it couldn’t accommodate such a large transgression. The unnaturally red air of the bubble began to fade, the cries of the souls muted and began to sound almost _scratched_ , like a damaged record, and Dean began to notice that the “wall” of the bubble was actually more blob-like in nature, malleable and easy to break through. Castiel passed right through it, pulling Dean with him. They popped out the other side into a different place entirely -- a darkened tunnel, so dark that Dean could only just make out the texture of rock walls on either side. 

“Where are we?” Dean whispered. 

“We're in the backchannels of hell, proper,” Castiel said. “Each soul has their own small hell, but if you can escape your own, you can navigate the realm through these tunnels. I don't fully understand how they work, or why they're here, but they lead where we need to go.”

“Wait,” Dean said, reaching out a hand to touch the rocky wall, not sure if he could believe it. “We’re actually out of my hell? All this time, I could have just… walked out?” 

“In theory, yes,” Castiel said. 

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Dean said. He was rooted to the spot, unable to move. How had he not thought to just… leave? Once, he had been a person who would have just left. 

“Dean, don’t be distressed,” Castiel said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder blade. “No one ever walks out. It’s unheard of. They only unchain souls from the rack when they know for certain that they won’t be able to leave.” 

“All those years for nothing,” Dean said, aghast. “I didn’t have to do any of that.”

“It wasn't for nothing,” Castiel said insistently. “You would have likely perished, wandering hell alone. You would have been discovered. I would have had a harder time finding you.”

Dean shook his head. The souls he cut up didn’t have names, at least, not to him, but he’d been accidentally assigning names for them in his head the entire time. There was Craig, who had been there since the very first day Dean had picked up the blade. There was Marsha, Alicia, James. Dean took care to only pick names for them that had once belonged to people he had hated, but with his memories of life as faded as they were, the names quickly became completely arbitrary. He’d tried to convince himself that obviously Craig, Marsha, etc, had done terrible things in life to have arrived on his rack, but he could never really believe it. It was impossible for him to conceive of an life bad enough to make someone deserve Dean Winchester. 

“Dean, we need to start moving,” Castiel said. “The journey to the door is long, and sure to be terrible.” 

“Go without me,” Dean said, shaking his head. “This is where I’m supposed to be.” He had obviously adapted to the realm, become just as bad as the demons who’d killed him. To set himself loose on earth would be a mistake Dean didn’t want to add to his already long list.

“I can’t go without you,” Castiel said. “The door is rumored to only allow humans to pass through. I believe I will be able to get through if I’m with you, but without you, I have no chance.” 

The angel looked into Dean’s eyes, blue light coming from deep within. Castiel was in a body now, the least distinctive body Dean could possibly imagine, but it did nothing to hide the glow from deep within his form, the thrum of power right underneath the manufactured skin. Dean met his eyes and though he’d never seen anything so bright. 

“You can’t escape without me,” Dean repeated in a deadened voice. 

“I can't escape without you," Castiel said. In his eyes, Dean saw the sun, a pond filled to the brim with lilies and fish and  _ life,  _ a pine forest, things he hadn't thought of in years. 

“Okay, fine,” Dean said, breaking eye contact. “We can escape. But only because _you_ shouldn’t be in here. Not because of me.” 

Castiel looked like he was going to say something, but he just sighed, turned, and started walking.

~~~

Hell is a river -- that’s what Castiel said, at least. Dean was skeptical that the river he kept referring to even existed -- it felt like they’d been walking through the dark tunnel for weeks and weeks. But Castiel insisted that he’d found the way into the river before, and knew that they needed to cross it to get to the door. 

“The river will sweep us in the direction it wants us to go,” Castiel said. “And we can follow it, but we also need to keep going forward. That’s what I need you to remember, Dean. Keep going forward.” 

“Keep going forward, got it,” Dean said, putting one foot in front of the other. They hadn’t yet taken a break to stop moving. The good thing about being as off the radar as they currently were was that Dean felt no pain, for the first time in decades. His feet should be hurting, he should be starving and thirsty, but in the back-tunnels of hell, no one could find them and make that happen, so Dean was afforded all the usual luxuries of being dead. 

At last, the tunnel began to widen, slightly more light beginning to trickle in. Castiel started walking faster, and Dean strained his ears. There was a sound coming from ahead, he was more and more certain he wasn’t imagining it as it got louder. The tunnel had been eerily silent for weeks, just the sounds of their footfalls and the occasional unaccounted for scuffling sounds ahead that made them pause and withdraw into the shadows, but now there was a distinct rushing sound in the distance, as if a waterfall had been tuned up to a higher pitch. The smell of sulfur, already a near-constant presence in hell, grew stronger until it made Dean cough with how thick it was. 

Castiel put out a hand, stopping Dean in his tracks, just as they reached a cliff edge. Dean hadn’t noticed it at first because across from the large chasm, the tunnel went on as if with no interruption. 

“This is it,” Castiel said. The sulfurous smell was definitely coming from the chasm, and even in the near-darkness, Dean swore he could see curls of sulfurous gas rising through the air. 

“I was picturing… well, a river, I guess,” Dean said. 

“It is,” Castiel said. “You fall into it.”

“Sounds fun,” Dean said warily. He peered over Castiel’s arm, trying to see what was below, but he couldn’t make anything distinct out. 

“It certainly won’t be,” Castiel said, holding his hand out. “Take my hand.” 

“Uh, what?” Dean said. “Our plan is really just to hold hands and sail off this cliff together, or…?” 

“Yes, Dean, that is really the plan,” Castiel said. “The other side of the tunnel isn't where we're trying to go. We have to pass through the river itself to get there.” 

“So deep,” Dean mumbled. 

“Hopefully,” Castiel said. 

“ _ Cas _ ,” Dean said in surprise. “Did you just make a joke?” 

“I can make jokes, Dean,” the angel said, turning to him with such a ridiculously human expression of annoyance that Dean had to laugh. 

“I guess you can,” Dean said, taking his outstretched hand and squeezing it tightly. As if sensing that it was about to get some new visitors, the river below began roaring louder, sounding almost like a chorus of screams, out of tune and out of synch. Dean let himself fall over the edge and join them.

~~~

They fell for what felt like a very short time before Dean found himself slapped in the face with a pungent, red liquid which showed through even his squeezed-shut eyes. Bubbles burst against his skin, bubbles large and small, and Dean instinctively scrambled at the water, trying to swim up to the surface, wherever it was. He’d lost all sense of where Castiel was, except for the hand that was still gripping his like a vise. A sudden current from below grabbed Dean and flipped him around over and over, as if trying to dislodge him from the angel, but just as he feared his wrist may be dislocated in attempt to keep holding on, the movement stopped, and the two were suddenly spit into a room that looked like an empty version of the bubble Dean had been in for so many years. 

“Did it not work?” Dean said as he got to his feet and looked around, confused. 

“It worked,” Castiel said. “I believe this will be our first obstacle of many.” 

“An empty bubble?” Dean said, squinting. He still didn’t see anything. 

“I’m sure it’s more than that,” Castiel said grimly. “Do you remember what I told you, before, about what to do in the river?” 

“Keep moving forward,” Dean recalled. 

“Good,” Castiel said. “Let’s go, then.” 

~~~

Dean understood, after a while, _why_ hell was a river. There was an onslaught of obstacles, an unrelenting tide of resistance, keeping them from moving forward at every possible moment. Fighting each one off felt exactly like swimming against the current of a particularly vicious river -- you got tired, but the river never did, and there was always a looming possibility that you may get bludgeoned against a giant rock if you let up for even a second. 

Once, Dean was a little too slow at slashing at a demon that had appeared in one of the bubbles, and he and Cas had become hopelessly separated. Unmoored and profoundly lost in the heart of hell, Dean desperately scoured the river for a month before he found the angel again, sitting atop a mountain of demon carcasses, as if gaining height could help him pick out Dean in the vast, unending tract of dimensionless blood. 

Time wasn’t linear in the river, which allowed the demons just one more method of torture -- they could slow a person’s days to the point where each second was hours long, or they could do the opposite, turning the passage of time up to a thousand and forcing someone to watch themselves age past everyone they’d ever loved in the blink of an eye. For Dean and Castiel, it also had the effect of making their mission of “going forward” nearly impossible. Castiel seemed to be a slightly better navigator than Dean, constantly with his eye on some point in the distance that Dean couldn’t make out himself, but even with Castiel’s sense of direction, there were constant setbacks, constant assaults by minor, recently-turned demons and hellhounds. Once, they even ran into a past version of themselves -- greener, still clutching each other’s hands as tightly as possible. Dean yelled at them -- he was pretty sure they were about to walk into an ambush he remembered experiencing, but they couldn’t hear him.

They knew that the were finally reaching the far side of the river when the modes of torture became less violent and a little… weirder. It started with an onslaught of slightly disfigured demons, who existed as clouds that could change shape readily, but never seemed to pick a regular shape. They would be dogged by these lopsided clouds of hatred for days at a time, not ever actually getting attacked, but constantly feeling a low-level malice towards them, an uneasiness associated with being watched. Then there were the demonic bugs, who seemed to be particularly drawn to non-demon entities. Dean was constantly bitten at by the infernal creatures, so much so that he was constantly light-headed from blood loss, even though he didn’t even really have a physical body at the moment. Cas’s healing powers did nothing against the bug bites -- in fact, he was somehow afflicted by them as well, scratching at his arms grumpily. 

The last, worst obstacle came when the door was in sight, a sliver of white light in the distance when everywhere else there was only blackness. It had been months, at least, since they’d first entered the river, and they spent at least an equal amount time trying to get past the last part. They’d gotten used to navigating through the river almost normally -- you could almost walk through the river, though it was also evident that you were under water, and you could fight, and breathe, and talk as you normally could. But then the last part of the river arrived, and it became so thick and viscous that they almost couldn’t keep moving forward. 

“This can’t be right,” Dean finally said, after days and days of trying to get through the jelly-like substance around them, which seemed to be doing everything in its power to keep them from passing through. 

“There’s a boat,” Castiel grunted. “I’m trying to get to it.” 

They eventually managed to free the boat Castiel had found, laboriously extracting it from layers and layers of sludge.

“What now?” Dean said, looking at the relatively nondescript boat they had spent so long trying to get. 

“We paddle,” Cas said matter-of-factly, getting in the boat and pulling out two oars Dean hadn’t noticed at first. He held one out, and Dean took it.

The boat at least helped them to travel across the surface of the river, floating inexplicably to the top once they both got in, but that was about all it helped them do. This last part of the river looked the closest to how rivers on earth looked, except it was perhaps a bit darker in color and entirely underground. But unlike most earthly rivers, it gave off the illusion that they were going forward, yet the exit point in the distance never got any closer. 

“How is this possible,” Dean grunted on day two or three of non-stop, fast paddling. 

“The river won’t let us escape easily,” Castiel said. 

“It’s this stupid boat,” Dean said. “We should swim.” 

As if it had heard Dean, there was a distant splash, and Dean made out a huge, scaly figure arching out of the water and landing back in one smooth motion. 

“That’s no longer an option,” Castiel said. “We’ve left that part of the river behind. Now there’s only this portion, unless you’d like to go back and stay in hell forever?” 

“I don’t want that,” Dean grumbled. “But what do we do?” 

“We keep moving forward,” Castiel said, digging in so hard that the boat almost toppled over. 

It was months before they finally reached the opposite shore. When it finally happened, it was so abrupt that Dean wondered at first if they had hit one of the scaly monsters in the river, but then Cas was smiling, actually smiling, and getting out of the boat, offering Dean a hand. 

Dean took it and set foot on the shore with a strange feeling -- a feeling that he was already forgetting the moment, even as it was happening. He was still right here, but he already couldn’t remember the months of paddling, how Cas’s calloused hand felt in his, the way his blue eyes were crinkled in a smile, the way the break between hell and earth was glowing through the black tapestry covering the rest of the place. He suddenly got the idea that he might not see Cas for a while, though he couldn't imagine how he'd arrived at the thought.

“Come with me,” Dean said in a daze. 

“I can’t,” Castiel murmured. 

“Yes, you can,” Dean said, tugging at his hand and walking towards the gap of light. It seemed to be calling to him, whispering in a language he couldn’t understand, but knew instinctively it was friendly. 

“You go on without me,” Castiel said. “Only you can pass through the gap.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. “You’re the one who  _ wanted  _ to escape, remember? I’m only here because of you.” 

“Then I’ve done my job,” Castiel said. The light was more insistent now, reaching out and grabbing Dean, pulling him up off the ground. Cas noticed that Dean was slipping away and squeezed his hand three times, as if saying goodbye. 

“Cas!” Dean said, alarmed but still too dopey to be genuinely concerned, as he floated higher, his hand slipping out of the angel’s. 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel said, as if from the bottom of a large ravine, the quiet words echoing around Dean’s head as he was lifted, up and up and up. 

~~~

Lucifer ended up returning them to Bobby’s living room, the three of them spit out with such a force that Dean stumbled forward and knocked over one of the bookshelves. Bobby, who was still passed out, landed in an uncomfortable-looking pile. Dean could see a trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth that he hadn’t noticed before. What had Lucifer  _ done  _ to him? 

Cas knelt beside Bobby, putting his hand to his head and closing his eyes in concentration. The angel was breathing hard, but seemed mostly unscathed. 

“He’s fine,” Cas said. “He’s just been put to sleep. Will you help me move him to a bed?” 

“Can you help me with my arm first?” Dean said. 

“Of course. Apologies, Dean,” Cas said. He came over and spread his large hand over Dean’s face. Dean felt all the cuts and bruises on his face abate, felt his shoulder pop painfully back into place. Cas breathed in a jagged breath, looking a little unsteady. 

“You okay, man?” Dean said. 

“Of course,” Cas said again, running his hand through his hair. “Let’s put Bobby to bed.” 

Dean took Bobby’s feet, and Cas took his shoulders. They dropped him on the downstairs couch, where he landed heavily and began snoring, reassuring Dean that he might actually be fine. 

By unspoken agreement, they headed up the stairs to Dean’s unofficial bedroom. Dean closed the door behind them and pressed the angel against it with his full body, their lips meeting in a desperate kiss that was more teeth than anything else. 

“Don’t do that again,” Dean said, pulling back and breathing in heavily. “Don’t disappear on me.”

“I was--” Cas began. With satisfaction, Dean noticed that he was already looking just as taken apart as Dean felt, his pupils wide and his hair mussed satisfyingly. “I was trapped in heaven.”

“And I was worried about you,” Dean said, bowing his head to nip at the space between Cas’s jaw and neck. 

“Dean, should we… talk about what happened?” Cas said, his breath catching.

“Don’t want to talk,” Dean said, blocking him from protesting any further by crushing their lips together again and forcing his leg between the angel’s, pressed up against his rapidly growing erection. 

“You’re sure?” Cas said. 

“I’m sure,” Dean said. In the back of his head, he knew that it was concerning that Sam had said yes to Lucifer, was concerning that the apocalypse would surely come to pass now, but he was desperate to table it all for as long as he reasonably could. He’d missed the angel like he missed sleeping, eating, breathing... and the need to breathe him in now, to feel his lean body pressed against his own, trumped all others. 

“Okay,” Cas said, his eyes darkening. “Take off your pants, then.” 

Dean scrambled to kick off his pants as fast as possible. Cas hadn’t specified that it needed to be quick, but there was an unspoken command in his eyes all the same that Dean intended to fulfill. In his haste, he left all the rest of his clothes on, which Cas seemed to approve of. 

“Good,” Cas said, eyeing Dean’s already fully erect cock. After weeks of complete inactivity, the mere suggestion of getting laid again was enough to make him absolutely desperate for it, his entire body thrumming with anticipation. 

Cas went to retrieve the lube and nodded at the bed in a silent suggestion. Dean forced himself to move to lay himself down at a normal, non-overeager pace. 

Cas pressed their lips together again, Dean curling in towards the angel so they touched at as many points of contact as possible, Cas's trenchcoat wrinkling beneath his greedy fingers. Cas deliberately stood with his hips back to prevent Dean from grinding against him, and Dean fought the urge to whine. 

“On your knees,” Cas said in a deep voice, pulling back and orienting Dean so that his torso was pressed into the mattress, with his ass raised and completely open to the angel’s probing gaze. Cas prepared him quickly, so quickly that it almost hurt, likely would have hurt if not for Dean’s desperate need to feel the angel inside of him, as soon as possible. 

“Now,” Dean said, after a short time had passed. 

“Is that a command,  _ boy _ ?” Cas said with a slight growl, pushing inside of him with greater force. 

“Just a suggestion,” Dean said. He had been trying for a light tone, but his voice still sounded an octave higher than usual. 

“Hmm,” Cas hummed. He unzipped his pants, all the rest of his clothes still on, lined up, and pushed into Dean in one steady, smooth motion. Dean gasped and grasped at the sheets, feeling split apart and slightly sore already, but in a pleasant way, a way that made him want more. 

“Do it,” Dean said, then remembered himself, “Please.” 

Cas snapped his hips forward, landing directly on Dean’s prostate on the first try, causing him to let out a loud moan and grind back towards the angel, wanting him to go deeper and deeper. The angel obliged, fucking him into the mattress at a punishingly fast pace. 

Dean came untouched in a matter of minutes, as if his body had been holding onto the possibility of release for a long time and was eager to achieve it as soon as possible, the orgasm hitting him so hard he lost feeling in his arm for a moment. 

“Holy shit,” Dean panted. The angel was right behind him, coming with a stuttering motion and draping himself over Dean tiredly. 

“Good?” Cas asked, domineering tone gone from his voice already in favor of a concerning and caring one. 

“So good,” Dean breathed. Normally, his brain would stop him from saying things like that to hookups, to make sure they never knew that Dean liked them enough that they could hurt him, but he was too tired at the moment to keep the usual walls up. “I needed that so bad.” 

“Me as well,” Cas sighed. 

Dean rolled over and closed his eyes. Sleep had been stalking him for weeks and weeks, stalking him but not ever finding him, and Dean surrendered to it now readily, feeling himself slip into the pleasant fog of subconsciousness. The last thing Dean registered was Cas lying beside him, wriggling underneath Dean’s outstretched arm and resting his head against Dean’s chest, before he was asleep. 

He had a strange dream where he and Cas were back on that rowboat in hell again, but this time instead of paddling, they were just talking, sharing a beer and watching the scaled monsters in the black river as if they were stars in the sky, commenting on them politely and using them as a ruse, but mostly just paying attention to each other. 


	12. Chapter 12

Dean’s nightmares of hell were rapidly being replaced by dreams of Sam. Cruelly, horribly, the Sam in his dreams actually felt like his real brother -- Lucifer-Sam seemed even faker in comparison, and Dean wondered how he’d ever convinced himself that his brother had been the same as ever. Dream-Sam seemed unable to speak to Dean and only stared at him longingly with his puppy dog eyes, reaching out and trying to touch him, mouth slightly agape as if in a silent scream. Entire dreams passed like that, with Sam reaching out and looking disappointed on loop, unable to react to whatever Dean tried to say to him. 

Dean’s days were all about Sam, too. He filled Cas and Bobby in on everything Gabriel had said about finding Death and getting his help to stop the apocalypse, and Cas believed that the plan could still work if they acted fast enough. 

“Gabriel surely knew that Lucifer was already in Sam’s vessel when he told you that,” Cas said. “You know, it makes sense now, why Sam was so avoidant of me. Angels can typically recognize each other by our grace.”

“He  _ did  _ always avoid you,” Dean realized. “Wish I’d caught that.” 

There was so much else that Dean wished he’d caught, so many things that seemed so obvious in retrospect. Cas’s theory was that Lucifer had been half-dormant in Sam for most of the time, still letting Sam drive but influencing his every decision, trying to stay under the radar and not tip the other side off to the fact that he’d entered his true vessel. But it was impossible for an archangel to stay disguised forever, especially because Sam kept getting into highly compromising situations for a fallen archangel to deal with. Cas thought Lucifer had probably intended to leave them much earlier -- why he’d stuck around so long, they still weren’t sure. 

“Probably wanted to hear about our plans,” Bobby said grumpily. He was nearly as upset that he’d missed all the signs as Dean was.

“We don’t  _ have  _ any plans,” Cas said. “Unless either of you know how to locate Death.” 

Of course, they still didn’t. 

Cas seemed to be getting increasingly grumpy with Dean as the days passed. Dean had no idea why. Here, he’d been excited to have the angel back, have an actual  _ friend  _ who could be trusted (Dean fully trusted Cas now, when had that happened?), but Cas seemed to be feeling the exact opposite way. After that first night, he hadn’t come to Dean’s room even once. 

And admittedly, sleeping with your friend was maybe not the most normal thing for two pals to do, but Dean had already  _ tried _ to smooth that situation over. He had explained to Cas that they  _ could  _ be just friends who slept with each other as long as they both promised to not make it weird, but it seemed that their talk had only made Cas madder. Bobby was trying aggressively to not notice the tense dynamic between the two, but with only the three of them around anymore, it looked to be a somewhat challenging mental feat. 

On top of all else, Michael had apparently decided to abuse his direct link to Dean’s head even more than he had before. Dean would be hunched over the stack of a thousand different local newspapers Bobby had started getting shipped to his house, looking for  _ something  _ in a sea of a lot of other somethings, and Michael’s voice would trickle in randomly whenever Dean was most bored and tired. 

“DEAN WINCHESTER, YOU KNOW THE TRUTH NOW,” he would say. “YOU KNOW YOUR BROTHER HAS SAID YES. YOU MUST SAY YES AS WELL, TO CORRECT HIS WRONGS.” 

“Shut up,” Dean muttered under his breath, the words on the page he was reading becoming completely garbled and senseless. 

“RIGHT YOUR BROTHER’S WRONGS, DEAN WINCHESTER,” he said. “SURELY YOUR BROTHER DIDN’T EXPECT YOU TO ALLOW THE WORLD TO BURN, WHEN HE SAID YES AND MADE THE DEAL TO RELEASE YOU FROM HELL.” 

Michael’s argument was, admittedly, difficult to dismiss completely. What _had_ Sam been thinking, when he said yes? Had he actually thought that Dean would say yes too, and use Michael to defeat him? It seemed unlikely that Sam would have believed Lucifer’s lies, that the world needed to be destroyed by two angry archangels to be saved, but if not, then _why_ did he say yes?

The one upside to everything was that Dean seemed to be falling asleep much more quickly than usual. One night, he was even in bed and closing his eyes by nine, sinking into unconsciousness as if it was easy. Sam was already standing there, as though he’d been waiting for Dean to arrive for a long time, and this time, he managed to speak. 

“Dean,” he said, in a hoarse, distant voice, as if from a scratched record, “I can see inside his head.”

“Why’d you say yes, Sammy?” Dean said. He’d been asking the same question for weeks.

“I can see inside his head,” Sam repeated, looking sad. 

~~~

A series of tsunamis hit Indonesia, killings thousands and displacing many more. A massive sand tornado was barreling through the Arabian peninsula, uprooting cities and baffling climate experts, who had never seen a cloud of sand quite that size. There was a huge forest fire in Italy, burning down half the Vatican and countless ancient ruins, burning through land that shouldn’t realistically have been dry enough to feed the fire. Every single fish in Lake Erie up and died one day, their bloated carcasses floating to the surface and creating a stench of death and decay that spread for miles and miles. 

Demons on Lucifer’s side whispered delightedly to each other whenever they heard about one of these occurrences. Death hadn’t even been unleashed yet, they said, and look at the power  their master already had. He wasn’t even trying, apparently. The big plan hadn’t even begun yet, and look at what a disturbance in God’s world he was already creating. Those smug angels, who still seemed to have the power advantage, if not the numbers advantage, wouldn’t be smug for much longer. 

~~~

Cas seemed to not be doing very well. It had been hard to notice at first, because no one was really doing well, but after a few days of observation, Dean was confident. Cas's powers were weaker than they’d once been. 

Dean tried to talk to him about it, but he continuously insisted that he was fine. 

“You’re fine? Really?” Dean said one day. Fed up, he pulled out a knife and sliced down his palm, deep enough that blood immediately began trickling down the sides of his palm. “Then heal me.” 

“Dean,” Cas groaned. “Don’t do this.” 

“But I thought you were fine,” Dean said innocently. 

“Fine,” Cas said. “I might be experiencing a few adverse effects due to being cut off from heaven. Living among humans has its perils. But I  _ am  _ fine.” 

“So fine that you can’t heal a paper cut,” Dean said. 

Cas rolled his eyes, and held out his hand. The cut on Dean’s hand closed up slowly.

“I can still heal it,” Cas said. “Just don’t do anything worse to yourself.”

Cas turned to leave, and Dean grabbed his arm to stop him. 

“I’m worried about you, man,” Dean said, trying to meet the angel’s eyes, but they were firmly planted on the floor. “Seriously, what will happen to you if you don’t get back to heaven in time?” 

“It’s not so much about location,” Cas said vaguely. “But regardless, nothing terrible will happen. If the stories are to be believed, I’ll just become a human.”

“What?” Dean spit out. “That’s possible?”

“Of course,” Cas said. “You become what you associate with.”

Dean let him walk away that time, leaving Dean standing still, in shock. Did Cas mean to imply that his “association” with  _ Dean _ was making him more human? Who else could he have been referring to? Who else had been dragging him into the world of humanity, practically since day one? 

Dean thought of Cas’s true form, huge and glowing and powerful, and felt a crushing wall of guilt descend on him. Cas might stop being  _ that  _ thing just because he’d had the misfortune of meeting Dean, just because Dean hadn’t understood that corrupting an angel was a bad thing. Of course Cas was mad at him, lately. It was a wonder Cas hadn’t gotten mad sooner. 

~~~

Dream-Sam was able to talk in complete sentences now, though it seemed like he couldn’t react to Dean’s questions in real time, always covering the topics Dean had asked about several nights prior, and completely unable to carry a normal conversation.

“I was messed up, Dean,” Sam said in anguish. “I didn’t think about what it meant, to say yes to Lucifer. I mean… I was so stupid, Dean.” 

“You keep saying you can see into his head, Sammy,” Dean said. “Does that mean you know where Death is going to be?” 

“I was so stupid,” Sam said again. “I believed Ruby. She said that Lucifer was an angel, and all the stories about him falling weren’t true. She said he would step into God’s role and control the monsters and the demons, let us live normal lives. It’s obvious in retrospect that her story made no sense but… Dean, I was drunk for nine months straight. Ruby was the only person I talked to.”

“What about the Death thing?” Dean prodded. 

“I fucked up so badly,” Sam said, tears streaming freely down his face. “Sorry doesn’t even cover it.”

“I’ll fix it, Sammy,” Dean said. He tried to reach out and touch his brother, but something didn't let him -- each time he tried, Sam got further away. “You find out where Death is, and I’ll fix it.” 

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam said. 

Dean lazed around for the whole day after that particular dream, trying to fall back asleep and hear what Sam might have to say about Death’s location. Bobby was still researching, recently convinced that Death may be somewhere in India, and was not pleased that Dean wasn’t contributing much. Cas stopped in for a few minutes before leaving for god knows where. Dean considered telling either of them about the Sam dreams, as he’d been considering for several weeks, but he was worried they wouldn’t believe him. Bobby seemed to trust himself less after the Sam-Lucifer incident, but strangely, Dean trusted himself  _ more. _ He’d been right about Sam not being himself, and now he was right that the Sam in his dreams could help them. He just knew it. 

The next night, Sam kept repeating “Chicago.” Dean woke up and flew to the computer, trying to figure out if anything noteworthy had happened in Chicago, anything that might prove that Sam’s information was correct. At first, he was disappointed -- there were no natural disasters, no unexplained power outages, no strange astronomical phenomena. But then he stumbled across an out of place article. Apparently, every patron and worker at a beloved pizza joint had suddenly died, seemingly at the exact same time. Only a few of them had pre-existing conditions, and even those three should definitely have not died at that exact moment. Medical professionals were baffled, but Dean wasn’t.

~~~

True to Dean’s prediction, Cas and Bobby didn't believe that the Sam of Dean’s dreams was a reliable source, even with the article on the pizza place to back up the theory. They spouted a bunch of crap about it being a trap, or just the product of Dean’s stressed mind, but Dean wasn’t about to let their doubt stop him. He set off for Chicago that very morning. He dragged a reluctant Cas along with him, arguing that they didn’t have anything better to do, unless another lead were to come up. Cas couldn’t argue with that logic -- leads never came up, lately.

“So,” Dean said, after a few hours of driving in awkward silence. “Should we come up with a game plan?” 

“I can see the reapers,” Cas said indifferently. 

“Okay?” 

“Death should be surrounded by reapers,” Cas said. “If he’s really in Chicago, we should be able to follow his trail that way.” 

“Good plan, I guess,” Dean said. 

It took them longer than Dean had expected to get to Chicago, and then another problem immediately emerged -- Chicago was much bigger than Dean had expected. He could have sworn he’d been there before, on some hunt years ago, but the massive, unnavigable sprawl still felt deeply unfamiliar to him. He tried driving around the whole area in a wide circle, but traffic was horrible and Cas never saw any reapers. 

“All right,” Dean said, after a few hours of driving hell. “We’ll just walk around until we see something.” 

“I’m not optimistic, Dean,” Cas said, taking a gentle tone with him for the first time in months. He thought Dean was hallucinating Dream-Sam out of grief, that was obvious. 

“We’re not going to give up yet,” Dean said. “I know what I heard.”

They walked around downtown Chicago until it got dark out, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

“Death's probably in a suburb,” Dean grumbled. "Of course." He wondered if Sam could give him a more specific location once he fell asleep again that night. 

“Hey,” Cas said, scrunching up his face. “That pizza place looks familiar.” 

Dean looked across the street at the place Cas was indicating. The place was pitch black, even though it was still early in the night, and cloaked in a general stillness that was evident even from a short distance. 

“That’s the place where all the patrons died at the same time,” Dean realized. 

“There are still no reapers around,” Cas said, glancing around the area. 

“I’m gonna go in,” Dean said, starting off. 

“Dean, no,” Cas said, grabbing his shoulder, suddenly sounding much tenser. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“You don’t think Death is in there?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Oh, I see,” Dean said. “You think I’m going to get myself killed by Death? You think I’m gonna charge in there and die immediately?”

“It’s  _ Death,  _ Dean,” Cas hissed. 

“Death won’t kill me,” Dean said, then realized what he’d just said. “Well, I guess death, lowercase, will kill me… actually, even death doesn’t always seem to kill me… but Death, uppercase--”

“Let me go instead,” Cas said. 

“No, Cas,” Dean said. “You keep your ears on, come charging in if I call. But I have a feeling about this. I think I should be the one to talk to him. I feel like... he might not mind talking to me.” 

“Unlikely,” Cas snorted. “Would _you_ mind talking to a spec of dust ?”

Dean gave him a look. “I’m going,” he said. “You can keep your ears on, or not.” 

He stalked away, and this time, Cas let him go. As soon as he crossed the street, he could feel a difference in the air -- it was stiller, quieter. No one was walking on this side of the street. All the store lights looked dimmer, and the traffic sounds of the city didn’t seem to reach through the atmosphere. 

The pizza place had a candle burning on one of the tables in the very middle. Crisp white tablecloths covered the array of small circular tables, heavy silverwares arranged carefully on each one. The place looked impeccable -- Dean wouldn’t have guessed that all its occupants had dropped dead a day prior, if not for the dark figure sitting at the middle table, his shoulders hunched over. 

Dean felt, for some reason, as though he should knock. 

“Come in,” a rich, melodic voice called, before he could decide what to do.

Dean pushed the door open, and walked towards the table, unsure what he would see. 

“Sit with me,” the voice said. The chair across from him pulled itself out, and Dean sank slowly into it, afraid to raise his eyes. When he finally did, he was surprised by how regular Death looked -- his eyes were sunken, and his cheekbones eerily sharp, but besides that, he looked like he could be any guy on the street. Well, any guy who wore an impeccably pressed, all-black outfit and had an array of mysterious rings resting on each of his fingers. 

Death seemed to be waiting for Dean to say something, as he was looking at him expectantly and ignoring the half-eaten pizza on the table. Dean cleared his throat. 

“Hi,” he finally forced out.

Death sighed. “You’re not going to introduce yourself?” he said, sounding disappointed. 

“Oh,” Dean said. “I’m, uh, Dean Winchester.” That didn’t seem like enough, so he added on, “Michael’s vessel? Brother of Lucifer’s vessel?” That seemed like a poor addition, and Dean mentally put his face in his palms. 

“Hello, Dean Winchester,” Death said with a slight nod. Dean got the impression that he had already known who he was, but had been offended to not be afforded the formality of an introduction. “I trust that you are only bothering me because of something important?” 

“Yes,” Dean said, inhaling sharply. “I, uh…” Under Death’s probing gaze, Dean was so uneasy he couldn’t hope to finish his original question. “Are you going to kill me?” he blurted out, rather against his will.

“You will die whether I kill you or not, Dean,” Death scolded. “Why would I go to the trouble?” 

“Right,” Dean said, nodding and trying to collect himself.

“Though I can’t help but notice that you  _ have  _ actually died, more than once,” Death mused. “Perhaps next time, it will stick.”

Dean began compulsively fiddling with the thick tablecloth. Death smiled slightly, clearly seeing the effect he was having. 

“I was wondering if you knew how to get rid of Lucifer without me saying yes to Michael and destroying the world,” Dean said in a rush. 

“Hmm. Gabriel sent you isn't that right?” Death said. “He is intelligent, for one of his species.” 

Dean was a little surprised to hear the word “intelligent” associated with someone who had once tried to bribe Dean with two porn stars. 

“I wonder what Gabriel thinks can be done,” Death said slowly. “What do  _ you  _ think can be done, Dean? Did Gabriel share his thoughts with you?” 

“Uh,” Dean said, trying to think of an eloquent way to say “Gabriel trapped me in  _ The Bachelor  _ universe  and locked me in a broom closet.” 

“It’s a fair question, isn’t it?” Death said. “Did you think  _ I  _ could just magically right all of your brother’s wrongs, perhaps? Snap my fingers and break my binds? Would that I could.” 

Dean noticed, and immediately wondered how he hadn’t noticed sooner, a pair of shiny black handcuffs around Death’s wrists.

“But alas,” Death continued, “Even if I wanted to behave as a janitor to the archangels, I couldn’t. Not in my state.” 

“Can the cuffs be broken, somehow?” Dean asked. 

“Only if Lucifer, the holder of my binds, is entrapped once again,” Death said. “His blood runs through these very cuffs. You cannot see it, but I can feel it.” He shuddered in disgust. 

“So, how do we get Lucifer back into the cage then?” Dean said. Death looked at him and nodded, implying he should continue thinking out loud. “Is it… do we find God, maybe?” Dean felt a little foolish at the suggestion. 

“Ah, God,” Death said, as if recalling a particularly nasty bug he had once squashed. “God’s gone, Dean. I reaped him years ago.”

“What?” Dean choked. 

“He was acting out of turn,” Death said casually. “He believed in his own power too much. What you should understand, Dean, is that the only power that is absolute is death. The oligarchs in heaven now, Michael, Gabriel, all their underlings, they at least understand what God didn’t. They can remain. Lucifer, however… he aspires to replace God. I believe he suspects that I reaped his father, which is why he was so desperate to trap me.” 

“The angels still think God will come back if the apocalypse happens,” Dean said. 

“Some probably do,” Death said. “Even your close acquaintance, Michael. He should know better by now, but then again, he was always the most devoted son.” 

“So… how do we put Lucifer back, then?” Dean said. “Do I have to say yes to Michael?” 

“There is another way,” Death said. “Take a slice of pizza, Dean.” He cut Dean a thick slice, and waited expectantly for Dean to pick up a fork and take a cautious bite. 

“You are aware, I am sure, that there were 66 seals guarding Lucifer’s cage?” Death said. 

Dean nodded. 

“Do you know what the first one was?” Death continued. 

“No,” Dean said. He hadn’t ever thought to ask that question before, and now felt a little foolish for it. 

Death cleared his throat and spoke in a magnanimous voice. “And it is written that the first seal on the Cage will break when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As his spirit breaks, so too shall the seal break.” 

“A righteous man?” Dean said. 

“A man who doesn’t belong in hell,” Death said. “Perhaps a man who dedicated his life to saving the lives of others, who sold his soul to a demon.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Dean said hoarsely. The fork slid between his fingers, suddenly limp with the weight of the realization. “Was it me? Did I break the seal?” 

“You would have,” Death said, without an ounce of sympathy. “If not for another of your own bloodline breaking centuries before you even set foot in hell.” 

Dean actually had to think about it for a second, so distant were his pre-hell memories, and so sharp was his current stress after believing that he had broken the first seal. “My dad,” he finally realized, the piece fitting effortlessly into the puzzle Death had laid before him. 

“Correct,” Death said, sawing hard into the crust of his last slice. “John Winchester broke within twenty years of being in hell. I hear that Alastair posed as Azazel to great effect.” 

“So, my dad…” 

“Began the apocalypse? Yes,” Death said. “I believe the demons were still hoping to turn you before the seals finished breaking. They needed you as leverage to get your brother to say yes to Lucifer, and they also thought they’d stand a much better chance in the war if Michael’s vessel were to be corrupted. Yet here you stand, mostly the same as before.” Death looked the closest to “approving” that he’d looked for the entire encounter. 

“So, my dad turned,” Dean said. “What does that have to do with putting Lucifer back in the cage?” 

“He’s a demon in its infancy, now,” Death said thoughtfully. “Still in hell, and under heavy guard from the higher demons. They have an inkling that he may be able to put their master back in his cage, you know. To reverse the breaking of the seals, you must exorcise him.” 

“Exorcise him... in hell?” Dean asked. 

“A different spell than usual,” Death conceded. “I can show you how to do it. I should tell you, to perform such a spell, you would banish him from hell, as well as all earthly realms. It would be as if he never existed.” 

Dean rubbed at his temples. He didn’t usually think fondly of his father, memories of particularly brutal scoldings typically only coming to light whenever Dean was drunk or particularly sleep deprived, but now Dean was recalling all sorts of little grains of affection John had given him -- a slew of approving nods, a rare “nice shot,” all the times he’d trusted Dean with the all-important task of keeping Sam alive.

“Another thing,” Death continued. “ _ All  _ of John Winchester must be exorcised, all trace of him gone. That includes the vessel the demon Alastair is currently using. It must be returned to hell.” 

“It keeps getting worse,” Dean groaned. 

“You shouldn’t expect to escape hell this time, either,” Death said, paying no mind to Dean’s distress. “To do such a thing twice would go against the natural order in an _egregious_ way.” 

Dean couldn't even begin to respond to that in a coherent way, still caught up in how steep the cost of this mission would be. Death seemed able to read his mind, anyways. 

“Did you really think entrapping the devil would be  _ easy,  _ Dean Winchester?” he said, the ghost of a smile on his thin lips. He fixed Dean with his intense gaze for a moment longer, then pulled a piece of paper and a dangerously sharp pen from his pocket. 

“I’ll write down the spell,” he said, as if nothing was wrong. 

~~~

Dean staggered out of the pizza place, feeling as though a thousand years had passed, though it was probably only about fifteen minutes. Cas was right where he’d left him, watching the pizza place intently, with his shoulders squared as if prepared to throw a punch at the vaguest hint of danger. He exhaled deeply when Dean closed the door behind him and crossed the street. 

“We need to leave,” Cas grumbled, pulling Dean along as they walked away as fast as possible. Dean let himself be pulled along, not feeling up to thinking or walking or navigating for himself at the moment. 

Cas didn’t stop until they reached a golden and well-lit hotel, at least twenty stories high and much too fancy for them. Cas still somehow managed to get them a room anyways, potentially by nefarious means (Dean wasn’t paying attention), and within five minutes, they had escaped the slightly suspicious glances from the other patrons and arrived safely in a room with a very clean, comfortable-looking bed and a huge window overlooking the city far below. Cas sat Dean down on a needlessly flashy chair and crouched in front of his so they were at eye level. 

“What did Death say?” he said, gazing intently into Dean’s eyes. Dean didn’t feel quite energetic enough to look back at him. 

“I’m going to hell,” Dean mumbled, collapsing forward into Cas, who caught him and held him up, letting Dean rest his head on his shoulder. “I’m going to hell again.” 


	13. Chapter 13

Dean was being cowardly and trying to escape his fate. 

It had been days of a hazy, depressed, alcohol-infused bender, and Dean no longer knew exactly how long it had been since he’d snuck out of the fancy Chicago hotel, leaving behind a passed-out Castiel. Nor was he completely certain where he was anymore -- he didn’t really _have_ to know, anyways. There were grungy, vaguely Western-themed bars everywhere. One simply had to park a short ways from one, get black out drunk, and wake up the next day, sprawled in the back seat, with a crick in the neck and a splitting headache. 

He wasn't dreaming anymore, not of hell and not of Sam, but it didn’t matter, because as soon as he woke up, he was back in hell in his mind. All of his days were spent trying to get away.

He distracted himself as best as he could by trying to get rid of his hangovers, sometimes even going so far as to make empty promises to himself that _this_ day would be the day he got it together and accepted his fate. Those plans would always die whenever the last of the previous night’s alcohol burned away and he was left to face the reality of his situation with no buffer, no distractions. Then he would tell himself that he _deserved_ a little distraction, and start drinking whiskey like it was a health drink that could cure him of all the ailments within. There was no alcohol in hell, after all, so he may as well get his fill while he could. 

Sometimes, he lasted a little longer in his efforts to be “healthy” and stop "self-sabotaging.” On those days, he’d go to some random, cheap-looking food place, and force himself to eat at least two meals, trying to make up for all the food he usually couldn't eat due to his total lack of appetite. Or he’d get a motel room that paid by the hour, just for the opportunity to stand perfectly still under the lukewarm shower water and feel a sensation besides crushing doom. But he started steering away even from that after he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in one of the gaudy bathroom mirrors and saw that a huge chunk of his hair had gone completely gray. He touched it idly as he examined his reflection, wondering when and how that had happened. Then his reflection began to make him nauseous, so he broke the mirror and left out the window. 

His phone had been dead for at least three days. Prior to its demise, Bobby had been leaving increasingly stern and specific voicemails, which told Dean that Cas must have filled him in on the entire sordid affair. It was good that Bobby knew, Dean supposed. Perhaps it would make Bobby slightly more sympathetic to what Dean had to do, once he got the courage to do it. 

Dean had thought about his options a lot, between his drinking binges, whenever a few hours of coherent thoughts forced their way into his tired head. By his figuring, he could go to hell, voluntarily, and kill his father -- an inconceivable choice. Or, he could go to hell involuntarily, after a long life of trying to hide from the demons and the angels and the whole fucking apocalypse. 

He seriously considered that choice, even going so far as to go to a random outlet store and pick out a completely different set of clothes for himself -- clean, pastel button-downs, khakis, a fucking bow tie. He put it all on one afternoon, already a few beers deep, and tried to come up with a whole new identity for himself. He’d become Dan Smith, a boring guy from Southern California who no one in their right mind would care to get to know, and he’d find some job as an accountant or some similar number-crunching bullshit. He’d enter into a mostly loveless marriage with some random, nice girl he met along the way. They’d never have sex, choosing instead to host barbecues and carpool places with other boring people. Dean would stop driving the Impala and cycle to work instead, to keep his heart healthy. He’d live a long life. He’d have a 401k and a mortgage. When he went to hell again, he’d say yes to Alastair’s offers to get off the rack right away, and slip into life as a demon without offering any more resistance. 

It was an idea, but a bad one. The clothes and the fake story behind them eventually made Dean so violently angry at the fictional Dan Smith, who didn’t have to care about anything besides himself, that he set the new clothes on fire as soon as he ripped them off his body. Maybe he didn’t have what it took to save the world, but he _also_ couldn’t stand giving up on the possibility so completely, not when his own demise was sure to be bloody regardless. He had to at least try. 

So his third option began to seem more and more inevitable. And it didn’t help that Michael had figured out a way to become semi-corporeal, appearing in the corner of Dean’s room at random times, smiling smugly. His form looked alarmingly like Cas’s, and his voice had stopped being at quite the intolerably loud decibel it had been before. Now he _sounded_ a bit like Cas, too. 

The first time Michael showed up in his new visage, Dean had been wasted at 4:00 in the afternoon, lying completely still on an uncomfortable motel mattress and staring at the ceiling. His first thought upon seeing Michael’s shimmering form had been that he was surely about to be murdered. 

“Hello, Dean Winchester,” Michael said, and Dean relaxed slightly. Although he sounded different, Dean still could have picked him out anywhere. 

“Michael,” he slurred. 

“Would you like to hear about which natural disasters my brother has caused today?” Michael said. “Or perhaps how he managed to annihilate an entire garrison of angels with no effort?”

“Go away, Michael,” Dean said. 

“You have to say yes to me,” Michael said, smiling kindly. “You can’t return to hell, Dean. You won’t survive the journey, and you will only suffer for attempting it.” 

“Who says I’m going to hell?” Dean said belligerently. “I’m planning to go to Mexico, actually.” 

“Dean,” Michael chided. 

“Why do you look so much like Cas right now, anyways?” Dean asked, upending the last bottle of beer he had on hand and pouring half of it all over his face on accident. His tolerance was significantly lower now that he wasn’t really eating, he noticed. 

“Well, you seem to trust Castiel,” Michael said. 

“Ah, this is your way of trying to seduce me, isn’t it?” Dean said, smiling salaciously. He knew he had Michael. “Do you know what me and Cas _do_?” 

“Scheme against heaven?” Michael asked confusedly. 

“We have _carnal relations_ ,” Dean said with great satisfaction. “Do you want to have carnal relations with me, Michael?” 

Michael disappeared in a distressed _poof_. 

But after that first, slightly antagonistic conversation, Dean had started being a little nicer to the archangel. Whenever Michael showed up, Dean either politely ignored him, or tried his hardest to get Michael off track, so they could talk about something besides the big “yes.” The truth was, it wasn’t horrible to have the company, and he was starting to believe that Michael _was_ genuine in his desire to defeat his brother, wasn’t just in it for the power trip. The poor bastard wouldn’t accept that his father was dead, and would monologue with touching sincerity about how much better the world would be once evil was stamped out and God’s Creation could exist in peace. Dean had tried to talk some sense into him, but it never seemed to work. 

“It’s not long now, Dean,” Michael had said kindly, the last time he’d come by. “I will be patient. And no matter what, I _won't_ let you rot in hell.” 

It was a very nice offer. The nicest offer that Dean had. 

So it was that on one random Sunday night, Dean chose _not_ to get drunk. He drove out to an open field instead, far from the suburbs or the town, and stood right in the middle of it. Though he couldn’t see Michael, he felt his presence, hovering around, waiting to touch down. 

“I’m here,” Dean said to the night sky. “Pattridge open space in Arvada, Colorado.” 

All around him, the night began to light up, in uneven patches and with an unnaturally blue light. Dean felt Michael settle over his skin gently, like dew on grass. 

“You’re ready, Dean Winchester,” he murmured soothingly. 

“Yes,” Dean said. 

Michael rumbled pleasedly. The air around them tightened, so tight that Dean could practically feel each molecule converging in on him, making his body feel uncomfortably small. It was about to happen, Dean knew, and it seemed that all his blood and bones and muscles knew too, as his arms stretched out involuntarily and his spine straightened. There was a high-pitched sound, as if a field of bugs were all screaming, and then Dean felt something barrel into him, and the sound abruptly disappeared. 

“What the--” Dean started. His eyes had fallen closed, but now they snapped open, to see a very angry Cas hovering above him. They were in an entirely different place than before -- a desert, it seemed, as the cool night air had been replaced by scorching hot air, and the terrain all around them was sandy red. Dean was pinned on his back, and the sand underneath him was so coarse that he could feel it through his clothes. 

“I rebelled for _this_?” Cas boomed, one hand firmly planted on each of Dean’s shoulders. His gaze briefly moved to the distance behind Dean, where he appeared to notice something. He dug his fingers into Dean’s shoulders again, clawing so deeply that Dean’s muscles began to protest the intrusion, and then they were standing on a rocky coastline, waves crashing against the rocks so viciously that Dean could feel the salty spray on the back of his neck. 

“So that you could surrender to them,” Cas continued, his voice loud and echoing unnaturally, even though they were outside and such a reverb shouldn’t have been possible. He moved to push Dean, but instead of hitting him, he flew them to another place Dean couldn’t hope to identify, a place with thick, succulent trees, a spongy ground that cushioned their landing, and a background symphony of chattering monkeys. 

“I gave everything to you,” Cas snarled. With another push, they were in a green valley, waterfalls visible in every direction and perfectly snow-capped mountains in the distance. Dean’s gaze flitted frantically back and forth, trying to pinpoint their location but also entirely unable to look away from Castiel’s burning eyes for longer than a millisecond. 

“And this is what you give to me?” Now they were on a huge, flat field of ice, next to an unnaturally blue trickle of melting water that made pleasingly quiet rushing sounds as it moved over the slick ice. 

“Cas, please,” Dean choked out, the cold air making his voice thicken and his eyes water after only a second. 

Cas’s eyes softened just slightly, and they appeared and disappeared rapidly in an array of places -- an island in the middle of a lake, a McDonald’s where everything was written in a language Dean couldn’t recognize, a bustling, 10-lane road, a thick rainforest with trailing vines that whipped Dean in the face -- before landing in a deep, dark cave, so far back that Dean could only just see the spec of light that was the entrance in the distance. 

“I think we’ve lost him,” Cas said quietly. 

“He can follow me,” Dean said. “He’s been following me for days.” 

“Then I guess we’ll have to be fast,” Cas snapped. 

“Fast at what, Cas?” Dean said, his voice breaking slightly. “There’s nothing else I can do. I… I’m not strong enough. I can’t go to hell again.” 

“Yes, you can,” Cas said, his eyes boring into Dean’s. “I know you can, because I’ve seen you there.” 

“You… what?” 

“How do you think I got us out of hell?” Cas said. “Time isn’t linear in the river, remember. I was retracting _your_ steps, Dean, following _you_.” 

“Following me?” Dean said. He remembered suddenly that they’d once run into their past selves while in the river, that Cas _had_ seemed to be tracking some point Dean couldn’t for their entire journey out. “You saved me even though you knew I’d just end up there again?” 

“You’re not staying there, Dean,” Cas said, and Dean shivered at the intensity of his expression. “I'll make a deal to free you when it's done.” 

“Cas… you can’t,” Dean said. His chest was hurting, and his heart was screaming at him not to tell the truth, to let Cas believe that they could get out of this one intact, but he knew he couldn’t just pretend, not to the angel. “Death told me I can’t escape again.” 

“And you believe him?” Cas said. “Dean, you have to understand. There is nothing I wouldn’t give to get you out of hell again.” 

“But--”

“ _Nothing._ ” 

Dean shook his head at Cas, but the angel appeared resolute. Dean was pretty sure he knew what Cas was planning to do, and it was arguably the worst plan of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that I memorized the entire "I rebelled for this?????" speech on accident...
> 
> Plagiarism is okay if you only plagiarism the most iconic scene in the entire show, am I rite


	14. Chapter 14

Cas was sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table, surrounded by a stack of old books and squinting thoughtfully at whatever he had pulled up on his laptop. He was idly sipping at some water through a metal straw. He’d started to crave water a few days prior, the same day he had pulled Dean out of Michael’s grasp. Dean had been alarmed at the obvious show of humanness, but Cas had just seemed mildly interested by the new sensation. “It doesn’t taste like molecules anymore,” he’d said, and ever since, he’d been drinking water pretty much constantly. Dean had rolled his eyes at first, but now he thought it was kind of endearing that the angel was impressed by something so mundane. Now, whenever Dean took a drink, he savored the taste a little more. 

Michael was still hovering around Dean, never becoming corporeal or speaking directly to Dean, but making it his prickling presence obvious at all times. And on top of that, Dean had started to have visions of hell again, waking visions that attacked at random moments. He’d lie down to try to grab a single hour of sleep, and a cloud of sulfur would engulf him, forcing him to sit up and cough the gas out of his throat until his throat was hoarse with the effort. Or he’d be in the car, on his way to make a supply run, and the music on the radio would cut out and be replaced with the distant howls of hellhounds, getting closer and closer as he drove further and further away. Eating was almost impossible -- food turned to dust in his mouth, and went down like cement in his stomach, caking his insides and making him nauseous.

It seemed that the moments Dean was allowed to be a human were rapidly getting drowned out by the constant pull of hell, or else, the clammy fingers of Michael. But meanwhile, Cas had started showering, changing his clothes, walking around in Dean’s old Metallica t-shirt and jeans, and falling asleep in the most random of locations around the house. He seemed more human now than even Bobby, who had become a virtual machine, always on some call, coordinating hunters all around the country.

Embarrassingly, Dean had taken to watching Cas sleep -- but always knowing that it was creepy, knowing that he’d made fun of Cas for doing the very same thing before, with an excuse already on his tongue if he was ever caught. It was just that the only other thing to do at 4:00 AM was to lie awake at night, fighting off conflicting visions of himself possessed by an archangel and himself chained to a wall in hell, getting torn to shreds by Alastair in his father’s skin. Watching Cas sleep, seemingly with no care in the world, made him feel slightly less unmoored, made the world around him feel just slightly more real. It was pretty much the only thing that could convince Dean that he wasn’t in hell yet, during those dark, horrible nights.

But he knew he would be soon. 

“Cas, hey,” Dean said now, taking a seat across from Cas and his stack of books. “Can we talk?” 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said. He was furrowing his brow at something on his screen, and didn’t seem to be paying much attention to Dean, so he reached out and slammed the laptop shut. 

“I meant  _ talk _ ,” he said. 

“You made me lose my place,” Cas grumbled, the metal straw in his glass dinging satisfyingly against the ice cubes. 

“You can find it again,” Dean said. “I just wanted to tell you that I’ll do it.” 

“You’ll do what?” Cas said suspiciously. 

“I’ll go back to hell and kill my dad,” Dean said, trying to sound as cavalier as possible. “The thing you want me to do so badly! I’ll do it.” 

“Dean,” Cas said, his eyes softening. He reached across the table to grab Dean’s hand, and Dean pulled away halfheartedly, so that Cas couldn’t get a good grip but was still close enough so that he could feel the angel’s calloused finger resting gently against his own. “I don’t  _ want _ you to go to hell. There’s nothing I want less. Please, you have to trust me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. He couldn’t meet Cas’s eyes, couldn’t handle the kindness he saw there. 

“I only  _ know _ that you will,” Cas said. “I saw you there, I know you have to go. I know it has to be you alone. But… I know that the only reason I would ever let you go back alone was if there was a way to free you again, if I stayed up here. So please,  _ trust me--”  _

“Don’t say you’ll get me out, Cas,” Dean cut him off. “I’m doing this knowing I’m not coming out, all right?” 

“You will not remain in hell while I’m alive,” Cas said firmly. 

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice cracking slightly, “I’m doing this for the people who want to be alive, okay?”  _ The people like you, who can still sleep at night and enjoy the feeling of getting cold whenever it rains, _ he wanted to say, but fought the urge. “I don’t belong here anymore. I wanted to say yes to Michael the other day... hell, I still kind of do. I  _ want _ to give up. But this is me giving up in a way that might actually help the poor bastards up here have a normal life. I can’t… I can’t be more optimistic than that. I can’t believe I could succeed  _ and  _ get out again, because I still don’t really believe I was meant to get out the first time.” 

“You do belong on earth, Dean,” Cas said softly. “You’re the one who taught me how to be a human. You deserve to be here more than anyone else I know.” 

“You don’t know that many people,” Dean said, trying for a smile, but it just came out bitter.

“I’ve been alive for several millennia, Dean, I’ve known a lot of people,” Cas said. 

“Still…”

“What if I promise to ignore the fact that you are planning to sacrifice yourself, and you ignore the fact that I’m planning to do whatever it takes to get you out?” Cas said. 

“I don’t want you to do anything dumb,” Dean said, finally gathering the courage to meet his eyes. He seemed calm and steady, despite everything. “You seem… well, for some reason, you seem to enjoy being human. I want you to be able to enjoy it for as long as possible.” 

“What if you trust that I know what I want?” Cas said. He looked as powerful as the day Dean had met him, still glowing with a quiet smolder that convinced Dean, just for a moment, that everything  _ would  _ be fine and Cas  _ would  _ be able to fix everything. 

“I do trust you,” Dean said. 

“Good. I trust you as well,” Cas said. “The plan will work. Now, do you want to hear what I’ve found on Alastair?” 

~~~

The plan was risky, stupid, and extremely unlikely to work. 

“So, just another Thursday, right?” Cas said, flashing a forced, cheesy smile. 

“Stop stealing my lines,” Dean grumbled. 

The good news was that while Dean had been throwing a small temper tantrum and drinking his way through the contiguous 48 states, Cas and Bobby had been tracking Alastair’s movements, and had closed in on his headquarters. The bad news was that his headquarters seemed to be in the heart of downtown Manhattan, in a skyscraper that, to Dean, looked like pretty much every other skyscraper in the city. To fight their way all the way up to Alastair would be impossible, but to send Dean to hell without getting rid of Alastair and John’s vessel would defeat the entire purpose of the operation. 

“Our plan will work, Dean,” Cas said. They had arrived in the city the previous night, and were now standing across the street from the skyscraper of interest. A long-dead part of Dean had wanted to take advantage of their last night on earth, the last last night of many, but the reality of the situation was that hell had so thoroughly had him in their clutches that all Dean had been able to do was lie in fetal position and try to focus on Cas, try to maintain some anchor to his humanity. 

“What’ll you do when I’m in hell?” Dean asked, forcing himself to be casual. Across the street, a few demons possessing investment bankers exited the building, looking for all the world like a group of young professionals about to go to happy hour and tip all the servers horribly. 

“Be imprisoned by the rest of Alastair’s forces, I imagine,” Cas said. “I may be able to fly out. So far, my wings are still functional.” 

Dean knew there was also a part he wasn’t saying, but he’d kind of agreed to let Cas do whatever dumb shit he wanted to do, so he didn’t call him out on it. 

“Sounds like we’re both in for a good time,” Dean said. “But we knew that, coming in.” 

“It’ll work,” Cas said again. “I have faith in you.” 

A few more quiet minutes passed. It was dusk, that point in the evening where the sun isn’t fully set and the strange half-light makes everything appear stranger than usual. Add to that the red tint the world had recently taken on for Dean, and he almost wasn’t sure what was actually real and what he was imagining. Where those huge, glowing eyes across the street, or was it just a traffic light? He squinted. He couldn't tell. 

“I think we may as well go in now,” Dean eventually said. “Get it over with.” 

“Oh, I had something to give you,” Cas said, pulling something out of his pocket and slipping it into Dean’s hand. He turned it in his fingers -- it felt cool and smooth, like it was made of metal, but it was too light to be a metal Dean could recognize. “Take this.” 

“What is this?” Dean said. “A toothpick?” 

“It’s my spear,” Cas said. “It’s hard to explain what it is in human terms, but it’s… an extension of my being, I suppose. It can only be transferred willingly, in unique circumstances. All angels have them, but we rarely wield them. It’s considered almost... a sacred thing, not something to be overused.” 

“It’s sacred? It’s a  _ part _ of you?” Dean said, incredulous. “You should keep it, Cas. You’ll need it.”

“You’ll need it more,” Cas said. “I think you’re supposed to have it.” 

“Cas--” 

“Dean. Take it.” 

“Only if you’re sure,” Dean said, putting it into his jacket pocket. He started across the street, but Cas pulled him back, a strange expression on his face. 

“One more thing,” he said. 

~~~

Dean flung open the doors to the lobby with a little more fervor than was strictly necessary, causing all of the nearby demons posing as receptionists to snap to immediate attention. 

“Hi all,” Dean shouted. “Michael’s true vessel here! I want to make a deal with your boss, and I have a meeting with him. I scheduled it, myself, two seconds ago.” 

The demons looked at each other with a mixture of fear and contempt. It appeared that they were all too low-level to know the protocol for this type of situation. Several were also eyeing Cas with concern, evidently unable to tell that most of his grace was gone -- though Dean supposed, even without the grace, Cas still looked pretty intimidating. His hair had been growing out a lot, and it now stuck nearly straight up all around, and his dark circles from his propensity to sleep only in uncomfortable positions and never reach REM sleep made his glare look even more intense than usual. 

“Should I speak to someone on a higher floor?” Dean said. 

“No, no, Mr. Winchester, come with me,” said a soft-spoken demon wearing a gray, ill-fitting suit, ushering Dean into a nearby elevator. 

“The angel stays down here,” another, more angry-looking demon said, trying to get in Cas’s way. Cas sidestepped him easily. 

“I go with him,” Cas growled. 

“He can come, too,” the first one said, smiling a polite, customer-service smile. “Alastair has some interest in him, as well.” 

“Fantastic,” Dean said, settling into the large, sparkling clean elevator, shoulder to shoulder with Cas and three other demons. The doors slid closed, and “Material Girl” began playing softly over the elevator speakers. 

“Good taste,” Dean said sarcastically. 

“Madonna is a talented singer, Dean,” Cas scolded. 

“I never said she wasn’t,” Dean said. 

“We don’t pick the music,” the demon in the gray suit interjected. 

They rode in tense silence after that, the elevator rapidly climbing up dozens and dozens of floors. Predictably, it came to a smooth stop at floor 66. 

“The boss will see you now,” the grey-suited demon said, stepping back and gesturing to Dean and Cas to step forward. The other demons in the elevator stood back too, deliberately maintaining eye contact with the floor. The grey-suited demon gave Dean a hard shove when he didn’t immediately step out, and Cas followed, staggering out of the elevator and into a very nondescript lobby area with a fake plant and a clean mirror sitting on a decorative table. On either side, sterile hallways stretched out, leading to what looked like a bunch of closed offices. 

“Which way do you think it is?” Dean said. 

“It’s probably a circle,” Cas said, eyes darting back and forth between the two options. “Why do you think he was so willing to let us up here?” 

“He probably wants to hear about the deal,” Dean said sarcastically, grabbing Cas’s arm and starting off to the left. 

They peered into every office they passed, and for the first few, everything appeared normal. But then, on the fourth one down, Cas spotted what looked like an elaborate setup for some type of ritual, complete with mysterious blood spatters and scorch marks all over the walls. And a bit further down, they found their first “dump room” -- an office filled just with twisted, disfigured bodies piled carelessly around the room

“They must be near,” Cas said, closing the door to the second "dump room" with an unpleasant look on his face. “I can feel it.” 

“I can, too,” Dean said. Something was in the air, and it wasn’t Michael anymore -- now he felt a more perverted gaze on him, judging his every action and formulating all kinds of disgusting thoughts that leached into his brain against his own wishes. He noticed a slightly ajar door at the end of the curved hall, a door that was larger than all the others, and he knew instinctively that this was the door to go through, that the source of all that hatred he was feeling was behind it. He nodded at Cas, who seemed to understand. 

They tip-toed for the door on light feet, pretending to each other that they might have the element of surprise, still. The hallway around them was still, but buzzing with an ancient, unidentifiable malice. 

“Hey,” Dean whispered when they reached the door, a hand on the cold metal surface, “Did you mean what you said before?” 

Cas knew exactly what he was referring to. “Of course, Dean,” he whispered back, his voice rumbling pleasantly in the echoing hallway. 

“I didn’t know,” Dean said. 

“I realize that, now,” Cas said kindly. “Shall we?” 

Dean recognized the dismissal and pushed the heavy door open to find a huge room, at least three stories tall and with floor to ceiling windows on two sides, a nearly uninterrupted view of the evening skyline of the city. Standing dramatically in the center of the reflective marble floor was Alastair, still in his dad’s body, hands clasped behind his back in an unnatural way that Dean had never seen John stand before. 

“Dean-o,” he rumbled. “So kind of you to come all this way. I heard you had a deal for me?”

“Sure do,” Dean said, striding straight for him. “I want to go back to hell. You were right, I miss it.” 

“Of course you do,” Alastair said with false sympathy. “No place is as  _ pure  _ as hell, is it, Dean?”

“Damn right,” Dean said. “I do have one condition, though.” 

“And what on earth could that be?” Alastair said, licking his lips. 

“You die,” Dean said, reaching a threatening hand into his pocket. 

Alastair sighed, and with a soundless blip, disappeared from the spot five feet from where Dean had been and reappeared on the other side of the room. 

“How tragically unoriginal,” Alastair said. “I’m not planning to  _ die,  _ Dean-o. Surely you know that? I’m going to be the king of hell, once Lucifer takes over heaven and earth." He smiled beatifically, clearly seeing a vision of himself in his mind's eye. "How could you possibly expect to deprive hell of its rightful king? I’m perfect for the role, you have to admit.” 

He knocked idly on the wall, and a small army of demons appeared, seemingly right from the shadows, and lined up menacingly between Dean and their master. 

“Cas, look at that,” Dean said. “He actually thinks these dumbasses can stop us.” 

One of the demons lunged at Dean, and Dean sliced him in half, not hesitating a second. The demon’s aggression immediately woke up the rage in Dean, rage that had been simmering just below the surface of his skin for days, or months, or years, and he began to tear through the ranks of demons with a knife in each hand. He smelled sulfur and couldn’t tell if the scent was coming from his own sweat or the torn-apart demons piling up around him. The world around him began telescoping, until he could only register the thing that was right in front of him, and then as soon as that body fell, another one replaced it, occupying Dean’s entire vision. He was returning to hell soon, he knew it -- though he was decimating the demons, he felt the same way he’d felt when he was about to go to hell the first time. There were no hellhounds yet, this time, but he knew there didn’t need to be any -- the rightful king of hell was standing just out of his sight, no doubt with a hungry smile and a knife at the ready.

“Dean!” Cas called out, and Dean drove a knife into the body of the demon that had Cas pinned like he was cutting through butter. The demon cried out, disappearing into a black cloud of sulfur. The sudden silence made Dean realize that every single minion in the room had been killed, but just as he was straightening up and turning to find Alastair, he felt an iron crowbar pierce through his back, freezing him in place. 

“Good job, Dean,” Alastair hissed from just behind him, so close that his spittle made it into Dean’s ear. “But you knew I wouldn’t let you get away with your little plan, didn’t you?” 

Here it was. Dean knew he was dying now, knew he should have died on impact, in fact, but a little piece of his consciousness was somehow still hanging on. 

It was the rage part of him, he realized -- all he could do now was think spiteful thoughts at Alastair, disgusting thoughts that had him tearing through Alastair’s flesh and forcing him to eat it himself, rejoicing in the fact that Alastair would die in his dad’s body for the opportunity to torment his dad as well, his dad, who had made his life on earth hellish, and Alastair, who had ruined him in hell, turned him into what he was now, a twisted mess of a being who could hardly be described as human any more. As his body pitched forward, Dean caught his own reflection in the shiny marble floor, and he saw that his eyes had gone completely black, his face twisted in pain and rage. 

“Dean,” Cas said, again, scrambling to his feet from where he had previously been pinned. “Give it to me!” 

Behind him, Alastair was laughing. 

“How do you want to die, angel?” he said. “Fast or slow?” 

Cas’s eyes glowed blue, and Dean could no longer tell if they were that way because Cas was an angel or if it was just because Cas had really pretty eyes. How dare Cas look at him with those pretty eyes, Dean thought.

“Dean,” Cas whispered. He wasn’t looking at Alastair at all, though Alastair was advancing with a predatory grin on his face, like he couldn’t decide what horrible thing to do first. In a sudden burst of possessiveness, Dean recalled what Cas must have been asking for, and became certain he needed to give it to him -- no one would be hurting the angel except for Dean. Without Cas, Dean wouldn’t be dying slowly on the floor, again. Without Cas, Dean would have been another nobody in hell, mindlessly slicing away. Without Cas, Dean wouldn’t have a  _ mind  _ right now. The thing was a burden he wished he had never had. 

Dean felt for the toothpick, and found it immediately, as if the thing had jumped into his hands. He tossed it to Cas, who caught it easily and flipped it over with nimble fingers. As it turned, the thing lengthened and widened and became the long, golden spear Dean had seen once before, when Cas saved them from Anna. Alastair had clearly not expected it, and backed up a step, but it was too late. Cas was already piercing him through the neck with a punishing look on his face. 

Alastair choked, unable to say another word as black smoke curled out of his throat, leaving him to collapse slowly to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head and his stolen body twitching slightly. 

“Dean,” Cas said, falling to his knees and sliding to Dean’s side, a harried look on his face. “Are you still here?” 

“Cas,” Dean choked. His anger had gone as soon as it had come, and with it had gone Dean’s vision, the pain in his torso, everything except the distant sound of Cas’s worried voice and the feel of his long fingers pressing the toothpick back into Dean’s clenched hands. 

“Remember, Dean, retrace our steps. You’ll only have a year or two before I free you, so go quickly. I have faith in you.” 

There was something else Dean wanted to say, something he felt he should have said before this, the final hour, but his last thought was drowned out by the sound of a keening wail, a howl of a hellhound who was recognizing some long-ago prey, and then Dean was falling, falling, falling. 

~~~

Cas had claimed that exorcising John from hell wouldn’t be like killing him at all, despite how Death had made it sound. Cas claimed that exorcising John would be more like freeing him. Dean tried to think of it that way, he really did, but with a golden spear in his hand and death and decay all around him, it was a little difficult to believe he was on anything other than a murder mission. 

~~~

The first time he’d woken up in hell, Dean had already been chained to the rack, already open and bleeding all over the place, unable to pass out or die or escape the pain any other way. The second time, Dean was already standing in one of the red bubbles, holding Cas’s angel spear in its attack position. Only one demon was near, and its back was turned. Dean stabbed it and watched its smoky essence disappear into the air. Nobody stopped him. 

“Huh,” he said aloud. He walked around the perimeter of the bubble. Nothing else happened, so he walked right out, and found himself right in the middle of the red river again. 

“Fuck,” he said to himself, choking slightly in the thick air. He remembered it taking much longer to get to the river on his previous visit, but then again, hell was probably under no obligation to remain the same. And plus, he didn’t have Cas as a guide this time. 

It took what felt like several weeks to get oriented in the river. Having the spear meant that all the challenges thrown at him by the demons barely slowed him down, but that didn’t mean that the Cas of the past was any easier to find. 

The first time he finally managed to catch Cas’s trail, he had such a quick sighting that he thought he must have imagined it. It was a blip where he saw a slightly panicked Cas, seemingly dragging along something behind him that Dean couldn’t make out, but before he could be sure, Cas disappeared into a swirling red current. Slightly heartened, or possibly going insane and beginning to hallucinate, Dean headed in the direction he thought Cas had come from. If it really was him. 

A few days later, the second sighting came up, and this time Dean was sure that what he was seeing was real. Cas was on  what seemed like an island in the river, a gray spot where time seemed to be slower and more linear than usual, and the angel was perched atop it, curled in on himself and looking tired, so tired. Dean approached him slowly, thinking he would disappear at any second, but he didn’t -- if anything, he started to look more solid as Dean got closer. 

“Cas?” he called out, climbing up the island until he felt that he, too, was back in regular time and not the harried, false timing of the river. But even once he was on the gray island, Cas didn’t seem to be able to see him, and just kept gazing sadly out past the horizon, eyes darting back and forth and shoulders so tense that Dean wondered how he didn’t pull a muscle just from sitting. He put a hand on Cas’s left shoulder, trying to reassure him, and Dean felt the muscle relax just slightly, though Cas didn’t acknowledge his presence in any other way. He waved his hand in front of Cas’s face, tried to get him to react for a while longer, but nothing worked, so he moved on, reentering the red river and trudging on. 

After that second sighting, Dean saw Cas more frequently, though always for fleeting moments of time. There would be a break in the fabric of the river, as he fought gangs of half-formed demons -- a gash as he sliced one of them with Cas’s spear, a gash showing Cas in a very similar situation, also fighting off demons, an invisible partner by his side -- and then the gash would close, and Dean would move on. Or sometimes he would stumble over Cas’s prone body, lying still in what looked like prayer, and before he could do anything else, Cas would vanish. 

He began to feel as though he was getting closer to his destination when he started seeing Cas constantly. There wasn’t a concrete reason for him to feel that way, but his instincts were screaming that Cas was leading him to his dad, even though everything in hell was usually evil and out to get him. Cas never reacted to him, never acknowledged him, always looked just past him. Once, Dean caught a glimpse of him smiling. 

Dean always tried to talk to him, but he never answered. 

~~~

Outside of Alastair’s lair, Cas had told Dean that he loved him. It was Dean’s most concrete memory, and as he sliced and cut through hell, he was thinking about it, thinking about how Cas had seemed so happy to tell him even though Dean couldn’t react the right way, thinking about the way that Cas had gently grasped his shoulder, the same one that had the handprint scar, in what felt an awful lot like a goodbye. But not just any goodbye -- it felt like a goodbye you’d give your lover of years and years, a person you’d seen through every stupid problem under the sun, someone you’d bickered with over morning coffee, someone who had been there through every iteration of yourself. It felt like a grateful goodbye, not a sad or desperate one.

Dean hadn’t said anything meaningful back, and it hadn’t seemed like Cas had expected him to. He’d stammered something about not knowing that angels could have feelings, and Cas had said that they typically didn’t, but he wasn’t an angel anymore, and Dean’s brain had kind of short-circuited after that. Cas had changed the subject gracefully and said something about getting the attack over with, and Dean had nodded. 

But here, in hell, Dean wished he’d said something back. Something like, he always had a hard time realizing that he was feeling love until he’d already felt it, so please forgive him for being a little slow on the uptake. Or maybe something cheesy about how Cas had managed to make him laugh even in the depths of hell, even when he had forgotten nearly everything about himself and who he used to be. Or maybe, “I don’t want you to die before ever hearing that I love you, so, I love you.”

It would be a crime for Cas to fall, to truly fall and become human and die, before hearing that he had fallen for a reason. For all of Dean’s attempts at bravado and coolness in the past, he had still managed to fall in love with Cas, and Cas didn’t even know. 

Dean needed to get out of hell. This time, he had a reason to, a real reason that he would do anything to fulfill. 

“I love you,” he told each passing Cas he saw in the river. Occasionally, they turned, as if they’d overheard their name in a crowd but couldn’t tell from where, but most of the time, they just blinked out of existence, back to the Dean of their time period. 

~~~

Finally, after what felt like years, Dean found it. A break in the river, a place where everything looked black, from the ragged walls to the air around it to the man standing in the middle, as if in wait. His face was familiar, and Dean could tell that this time, the person wearing it was his actual father, not Alastair playing out some twisted farce. John looked different, but also the same, like a darker version of his earth self. 

“Dad,” Dean whispered, approaching slowly. 

John looked up, and recognized him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big delay on this one! health got real bad :/ 
> 
> One chapter left!!!!! Thanks to anyone still reading. I'm hoping to finish the next chapter soon, but it's sure to be a long one so it may be a week or so


	15. Chapter 15

It was a dark alley like any other -- musty, claustrophobic, lit only by a few distant streetlights. It would have been entirely unremarkable if not for the pale, well-dressed man with sharp cheekbones who Castiel was observing from behind a crate. 

It had taken tracking and (regrettably) torturing five reapers to get the location he had been after. Castiel suspected it would have taken much longer, if Death had truly cared to stay hidden. But it was fairly obvious that Death wanted to speak to Castiel -- he’d had a feeling, even before he’d seen how obviously Death had left the restaurant he’d previously been blending into. 

“Must we continue these little theatrics, Castiel?” Death said now, voice not raised at all but still easily audible in the silent alley. “I know you’re there.” 

“Can’t hide from Death, I suppose,” Castiel said, stepping out into the faint light. Dean would say something like that, right? It had just slipped out of his mouth, but Castiel was surprised to hear it, surprised because it sounded a little like Dean. 

“Are you here about your obnoxious siblings, or the obnoxious Winchesters?” Death said, his hand reaching into his jacket pocket where it sat, a casual threat. “I can never remember which side you’re on.” 

“I’m not on any side,” Castiel said. 

“Hmm,” Death rumbled. “If that’s true, then why are you bothering me while I’m busy pretending to not be physically confined to this foolish planet?” 

“Because Dean Winchester is currently in hell working to spring you of your binds to Lucifer,” Castiel said, beginning to advance on Death, despite the fact that stepping closer to Death felt a lot like stepping closer to a black hole he couldn’t possibly hope to escape from, one that pulled him in harder and harder the closer he got. “And you think a sufficient way to repay that is to leave him in hell for eternity?” 

“I never had a deal with Dean,” Death said. “I’m not some petty  _ demon _ , Castiel. You know that.” 

“I know that,” Castiel said. Every angel knew that. Death, for the angels, had always occupied a similar space as God -- a mythical being that everyone “knew” existed, who everyone also “knew” was on a level of power so supernatural that even the archangels couldn’t fully understand it. “But I also know that you care about the natural order of things.” 

“I  _ am  _ the natural order of things,” Death said. Castiel met his eyes and wondered if Death’s physical form was a vessel, or a body he had made for himself. If it was a vessel, it was an uncanny likeness -- the man’s eyes were regular human eyes, but they somehow also seemed like the oldest things Castiel had ever laid eyes on, full of such complicated depths as to rival the deepest, stillest lake on earth. 

“Would you argue that it’s natural for the man who frees you to remain imprisoned?” Castiel said. “Is that the natural order?” 

“Dean Winchester has evaded death too many times,” Death said. “Once because of your own interference, Castiel. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.” 

“Dean is _also_ doing you a favor,” Castiel said. “Unless you’ve lied to us about enjoying being chained to my brother. Perhaps you’re actually on Lucifer’s side, after all? Perhaps you like being his attack dog?” 

Death’s eye twitched a little bit at that. 

“Dean Winchester will die someday,” Castiel said. “Permanently. But, in exchange for your freedom, don’t you think he deserves to live a full life first? A life that doesn’t end in more hell?”

“This pandering to my emotions will not work,” Death said dismissively.   


“I’m not pandering to your emotions,” Castiel snapped. “I know you don’t have emotions. But balancing the scales matters to you, doesn’t it? If you get to walk away from this free, and Dean doesn’t, well, that doesn’t strike me as very balanced.” 

“Dean's life would be a small price to pay for freedom,” Death mused. 

He must have considered it before Castiel had approached him, but he still was pretending to think about it now for the first time, watching Castiel for a reaction to his waffling. Castiel tried not to give him one, continuing to glare as if his entire happiness and existence didn’t depend on Death’s answer.

“Once John Winchester is exorcised,” Castiel said firmly, tired of letting Death deliberate. “You will raise Dean then. The last time any of us will.” 

“And then he’ll die permanently, and your infernal brother will be back in the cage,” Death said.  “All right, Castiel, I agree. I will raise Dean Winchester one last time, if he succeeds in securing my own freedom.” 

He held out a gnarled hand, and Castiel hesitantly took it. Death’s grip was dry and absolute, making Castiel feel like the bones in his hands were seconds away from crumbling into dust. From Death’s perspective, they probably were. 

“One more thing, though,” Death said, an eyebrow raised as if an idea had just now come to him. “You must die as well.”

Castiel’s hand stilled, his arm feeling numb all of a sudden. 

“Dean is doing me a favor, but I’m doing you a favor too, Castiel,” Death said. “If I must pay for my favor, shouldn’t you pay for yours?” 

~~~

Dean woke up on a firm metal table, and immediately felt like he needed to claw his way up, up towards where the oxygen was. There was dirt all around him, dirt falling on his face and suffocating him, and he bolted upright as he struggled to draw in a breath. 

“Dean,” Cas rumbled, two hands reaching out to Dean’s shoulders. “Dean, it’s fine. I’m here.” 

Dean forced his eyes open to see Cas hovering before him. They were in Bobby’s panic room, and there were no earthworms or dirt anywhere to be found. The smell of the earth and the feel of the dirt still lingered on Dean’s skin, though, and he focused on the blues of Cas’s eyes with a little too much intensity as he tried desperately to ground himself. 

“How long?” he finally choked out. He wasn’t nearly as disoriented this time as he’d been the last time he’d crawled out of hell, and he vaguely remembered that he had been supposed to be somewhere, supposed to save Sam, supposed to tell someone something. 

“Four days on earth passed while you were in hell,” Cas said. “Another two passed while you were asleep here.” 

“You raised me straight from the grave this time?” Dean said roughly. “Sounds like an upgrade.” 

“I’m glad I was there,” Cas said. “You were quite delusional, and passed out almost immediately. We were worried, for a moment, that Death hadn’t held up his end of the bargain.” 

Dean coughed on nothing, and hunched over as he tried to clear his lungs and breathe normally. Cas’s hand went immediately to support his back, and Dean twitched at the sensation. It had been a long time since he’d seen a Cas who wasn’t a ghost, unable to hear him or touch him, and he’d forgotten how it felt to be touched by someone who cared about him. It was warm, the opposite type of warmth as hell. 

“So you bargained with Death, then?” Dean said after he regained his breath, trying to be casual, as if Cas hadn’t done the thing he’d been afraid of, as if Cas hadn’t saved him at great cost to himself  _ again.  _

“I offered the remainder of my grace for your freedom,” Cas said, smiling slightly. “It was a good trade.” 

“I wish you hadn’t done that, Cas,” Dean said. “Ruining your life for one guy. It’s not…” 

“Don’t,” Cas interrupted. “Don’t finish that sentence.” 

“But,” Dean stammered. “You were an angel! You were immortal. You were… one of the good guys--”

“Dean, my siblings created an apocalypse just because they miss our father,” Cas said, looking fiery. “They were not ‘the good guys.’ They had no regard for the lives of everyone on earth. But  _ you  _ went back to hell to save everyone on earth, you did the last thing you would have ever wanted to do because  _ you  _ actually cared. If you’re not ‘one of the good guys,’ then I don’t know who is.” 

Dean cleared his throat again and sat up slowly, using both his arms to prop himself up. His mind was buzzing with a lot of incoherent thoughts, and he wanted to sort through them, but he felt like he couldn’t even begin to make sense of anything. The one thing he was sure of was that he and Cas had had this argument before, and he didn’t want to have it again. He tried to focus on that one thing, as his thoughts slowly arranged themselves into something comprehensible.

“Okay,” he finally said. “So you’re full-on human now?” 

“Mostly,” Cas said. Behind him on the wall, the shadows casually rearranged themselves to form two huge wings, sprouting from Cas’s shoulders. “It appears that a few... uh, physical features... were not possible to extract from my soul.” 

“I’m not surprised,” Dean said. Cas’s face seemed to be glowing just a little, just a fraction of the shine that he had had the first time they’d met. But it was there, and Dean couldn’t imagine it ever going away. 

They sat in silence for a moment, Cas still standing close to Dean, as if ready to spring into action if he started coughing again. 

“So,” Cas said. “Are you upset with me?” 

“What?” Dean said. “Why would I be mad at you?” 

“You said not to raise you,” Cas said. “You seem upset that I’m not really an angel any more. You’ve seemed upset by that for a while. Do you… no longer find me useful?” 

“ _ Cas _ ,” Dean chided. “I just don’t feel like I deserve you sacrificing yourself like that. But if you want to…”

“I don’t view it as a sacrifice,” Cas said. 

“Well then,” Dean said, swallowing his impulse to continue to deflect, continue to feel guilty, continue to try to make Cas’s decisions for him. “I support your choice. Of course I do. I mean… you’ve done so much for us, Cas. Of course I trust your decisions.” 

“I… Thank you,” Cas said. He backed up a little bit, looking a bit awkward all of a sudden. “I should probably let you rest some more.” 

Dean wanted to disagree, but as soon as Cas said the word  _ rest  _ his eyelids started to feel heavy again. The world seemed fake to him, liquid and strange, as if he wasn’t really in it yet. But he’d been through this once before, and this time, he knew that he was, he knew it was real. Cas, at the very least, _had_ to be real. Hell or heaven couldn’t possibly make him up, at least, not in a convincing way.

“Wait, Cas,” Dean said, fighting to keep his eyes open as his head lolled to the side, tracking Cas’s tentative path out of the panic room. “I have to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” Cas said. 

“I love you,” Dean said, and he was tired enough that he didn’t feel embarrassed to be saying it, though he suspected that some treacherous part of his mind might torment him over it later. 

“Oh,” Cas said, sounding so surprised that Dean tried to sit up again. “You were saying that when you were first raised, too. I thought…” 

“I mean it,” Dean said with a tired slur, falling back onto the bed. “I love you. I’m kind of glad I’m here, because I really wanted you to know that.” 

“Oh,” Cas said again. He was smiling. 

~~~

The next time Dean woke up, he was in the upstairs room of Bobby’s house, and a sleeping Cas was in bed next to him, his cold feet freezing against Dean’s legs. Dean turned around, startled. 

“Flew us up here,” Cas mumbled sleepily. “Bobby made me keep you in the panic room until we were sure you were fine.” 

“Ah,” Dean said. 

“Go back to sleep,” Cas muttered. 

“I’ve been sleeping for days, Cas,” Dean said. “I feel like I should walk around.” 

Cas made a grumbling sound, but removed his feet from Dean’s legs and let him get out of bed. Dean stretched, looked out the blinds, took a drink of the water on the bedside table. He felt good. He felt almost normal. Around this time last time he’d gotten out of hell, he had been delusionally breaking mirrors, locked inside a motel room, convinced he was still in hell. He had barely even remembered his own name, last time. But this time, he felt like a real person, like he had simply returned to someplace he had been actively heading towards for his entire time in hell. Or -- he looked at Cas’s sleeping form -- some person, maybe. 

He carefully headed out of the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him. Thinking of Cas had made him remember the other person he had done everything for -- the fog of hell and sleep had caused him to not immediately think to ask about Sam, but now that everything else seemed accounted for, concern for his brother took up all remaining real estate in his head. 

Luckily, Bobby was already seated downstairs at the kitchen table, squinting at a laptop and hovering over the trackpad as if it might bite him if he touched it too hard. He looked up when Dean entered, his facial expression barely changing. 

“Good to see you alive, kid,” he said, and turned back to his laptop, as if it was any other Sunday. 

“Good to see you, too,” Dean said. “Where’s Sam?” 

“What do you think I’m working on right now?” Bobby snapped. 

“You guys didn’t get him?” Dean said. 

“There were unforeseen complications,” Bobby said. It sounded a little like he was quoting Cas. 

The plan had been for Bobby and his network of hunters to work on getting close to Sam while Dean was in hell. If all went to plan, Lucifer would be forced out of Sam’s body, but he would still be surrounded by countless demons, including Ruby. The plan had been to rush in and catch the demons by surprise. 

“Demonic angels,” Bobby continued. “There were more than we thought. A few of them grabbed Sam and flew away. We still can’t find them, they’re lying low.” 

“And the rest of the demons…?” 

“The rest of the angels were useful, for once,” Bobby said. “Cas says most of them are back in heaven now, but they pretty much crushed the rest of Lucifer’s army, all around the world. Things are back to normal. Look at the news.” 

He threw a stack of newspapers at Dean, all with relatively innocuous headlines, many quoting from politicians who were all trying to claim the sudden halt to the natural disasters as their own personal victory. 

“The angels just  _ left _ ?” Dean said. “Really?” 

“They don’t actually care about destroying the world unless they get to go to paradise afterwards, I guess,” Bobby said. 

“But--” 

“Cas says they think the cage will be broken again sometime, and they’ll get to do the apocalypse again,” Bobby continued. “But the angels are immortal. They believe the cage has to broken by the demons, and they’ll wait for that to happen organically. They’ll wait a long time.” 

“And then it will be some other poor bastard’s problem to solve,” Dean said. 

“What do you want to do about it? Destroy heaven permanently?” Bobby said. “Good luck with the PR on that one.” 

Dean struggled to find the words to express his concern over Sam’s welfare, or how much of a cop-out it seemed to be to leave the apocalypse problem for the next millennium, but Bobby interrupted his stream of thought. 

“You should eat,” he said, gesturing to some cold scrambled eggs sitting on the stove. 

“But Sam--” 

“Eat,” Bobby said. “You haven’t eaten in days.” 

More like years, Dean thought. There wasn’t any food in hell, you didn’t need it, and even before that, when was the last time Dean had bothered to eat anything? The last time Dean could remember enjoying food was before he’d even been to hell at all -- distant memories of particularly juicy burgers from a whole other life ago, a life where he and Sam drove around the country and ate flagrantly bad diner and gas station foods for every meal. A life he’d almost forgotten about, memories he’d put on a particularly high shelf and not bothered to dust off for years. 

Thinking about them now, Dean suddenly felt ravenous, his bones shaking and hollow. He went to the stove and ate a huge bite of scrambled egg straight up of the pan, relishing their slightly salty flavor as he chewed slowly. 

“Good eggs, Bobby,” he said through a mouthful of food. 

“You always had terrible manners,” Bobby muttered. 

~~~

For the next few weeks, Dean was kept in the house only because of a series of clever distractions from Bobby and Cas, and his own continued physical weakness. The last time he’d walked out of hell, Dean had lost his ability to sleep properly, but now it was pretty much the only thing he could do. He’d open up a laptop, try to scan the area for promising omens or weirdness, and he’d wake up hours later, mouth slack and face pressed into the couch pillow, having progressed only a single page. He started doing push-ups and lifting weights in attempt to regain some strength, but the second he’d take a rest, he’d nod off and be forced to snap himself awake by doing more reps. And the nights, which used to stretch so long and empty, now went by in what felt like two seconds, with Dean closing his eyes at 7:00 PM and opening them hours later, feeling like no time had passed at all. 

Cas said it wasn’t anything to be concerned about, but Dean was worried that he was only saying that to make him feel better. 

“I can’t heal you anymore, but I can still somewhat determine what’s happening,” Cas said, squinting. “Your body is just healing, Dean. It’s readjusting to this realm.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Dean grumbled. Cas’s way of evaluating Dean’s health seemed a little more new-agey and less celestial now that he’d fallen, and Dean wasn’t necessarily buying it. “Seems like Death’s way of screwing me over.” 

“We made a deal,” Cas said, resolute. “He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t bother to.” 

Dean didn’t believe it at first, but after the first few weeks had passed, he noticed a slight improvement. He was able to stay awake through the whole day, most times. And by the end of the third week, Bobby had reluctantly agreed to let him go out hunting for Sam with Cas, next time they got even a slight hint of his whereabouts. 

But before they even needed to go anywhere, a visitor showed up on Bobby’s doorstep. 

“It’s for you, Dean,” Bobby said in a toneless voice. 

Dean went to the doorstep to see Gabriel leaning against the doorframe, a lollypop dangling out of his mouth like a cigarette. 

“Walk with me, Dean-o?” he said.

Dean followed him silently as he wound through the car lot by Bobby’s house. He seemed to be keeping a loose eye on the house, and spun around once they were firmly out of earshot, leaning on the hood of the nearest car and nodding at Dean as if prompting him to start saying whatever he wanted to say. 

“You got some nerve, showing up here after the shit you pulled with the… the bachelor, or whatever,” he said. 

“You mean when I told you how to save the world  _ and _ your brother without saying yes to Michael?” Gabriel said, raising his eyebrow. “Yeah,  _ really _ sorry about that.”

“You didn’t have to kidnap me,” Dean grumbled. 

“Do you want to argue about the semantics of what may have happened in the past, or do you want to talk about your brother?” Gabriel said. 

“You know where he is?” Dean said, attention rapidly diverted. 

“As we speak, two of my guys are putting him in Bobby’s spare bedroom,” Gabriel said casually. 

“...what?” Dean said. A careful look at Gabriel’s face convinced Dean that he wasn’t just pulling his leg, and he turned instinctively to head for the house. Gabriel appeared in front of him. 

“A few things first,” he said in a scolding tone. 

“What’s so important that I can’t go see my brother?” Dean said. 

“Well, he’s comatose, for one thing,” Gabriel said. “Thought you’d want to know about that.” 

“He’s comatose?” Dean said. “What did you guys do to him?” 

“Lucifer did this, not us, you dimwit,” Gabriel said. “Being possessed by an archangel will mess you up, good. He’ll be comatose for a long time, Dean. Months, maybe years. Maybe forever.” 

“Aren’t you a fucking archangel?” Dean snapped. “Can’t you fix him?” 

“I don’t know, Dean, could _you_ glue a spider back together? I can’t ‘fix him’ in a way that actually means something.”

“I want to see my brother. I don’t want to listen to this,” Dean said, trying again to push past the archangel, but he was stopped again. 

“About  _ my  _ brother,” Gabriel said. “Michael should leave you alone, now.” 

“He’d better,” Dean said. 

“Since all the demon angels are dead now, my cohort and I will return to heaven, and we won’t be back,” Gabriel said. “There are debates in heaven about what to do now. No one knows what to do about an averted apocalypse, you know. Many want to restart it.” 

“I’m not going back to hell to fix your guys’s dumb mistakes again,” Dean warned. 

“You won’t have to,” Gabriel said. “After all, a certain  _ someone _ is planning to let Michael know that God is dead. I have a feeling that his zest for the apocalypse might lessen once he learns that even the endtimes won’t make Daddy come back.” 

“You think he’ll believe that?” Dean said. 

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Gabriel said. “At the very least, it’ll stall things. Angels are good at being stalled. The next time we have to worry about an apocalypse, we may all be dead anyways.” 

“Even you?”

“Even me,” Gabriel said, his eyes cast up, as if looking at something Dean couldn’t see. 

“Okay,” Dean said. “So, what you’re saying is…?”

“I’m saying you’re free, Dean,” Gabriel said. “I thought you’d want to hear that, or is your savior complex  _ that  _ bad? You’re free. I’m not gonna return to earth to be everyone’s favorite trickster god until heaven is _good_ and peaceful. Michael won’t talk to you any more, he won’t have the will to. And the demons are mostly crushed -- not completely, of course, but only the minor ones are left, or the ones who prefer to hide in hell. Your job isn’t impossible any more -- in fact, if you wanted to retire, I’ll betcha the other hunters could handle the monsters that are left.” 

“Everything’s… back to normal?” Dean said. 

“Should be.” 

“Except my brother.” 

“Except your brother,” Gabriel continued. He nodded towards the house. “You can run to Sammy now. That’s all I wanted to say.” 

Dean hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t even sure why, but he was starting to grasp the finality of what was happening, starting to realize that if Gabriel was telling the truth, he’d never have to talk to an angel ever again, and he felt like he couldn’t let Gabriel leave just yet. 

“Was there something else  _ you  _ wanted to say, Dean-o?” Gabriel said, in an annoyingly knowledgeable tone. 

“Why us?” Dean said. “Do you know why it had to be me and my brother?” 

“Ahh, Dean,” Gabriel said. “There is no real  _ why _ . I mean, Michael and Lucifer needed two brothers or sisters to act as the true vessels, and it helped that Sam already had such an affinity for demons, but… there’s no  _ why _ . There were plenty of other sibling pairs across the world that could have fit the bill. It just so happened that Lucifer had convenient leverage over Sam. That’s it.” 

“So this could have easily all happened to someone else?” Dean said. 

“Sure,” Gabriel said. “It always can, and it always will. You’re not the only martyrs on the earth, you know.” 

Dean glared at Gabriel, trying to figure out if he was lying, but he seemed sincere. He seemed to be on the same page as Dean, recognizing that they would never see each other again so there wasn’t much of a point in lying to each other or attacking each other. How strange, Dean thought, to feel so neutral towards a man who had once killed him over a hundred times in a row. He supposed it was actually probably one of the more normal things that had happened to him in the past several years, considering. 

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Gabriel said. 

“Do you think…” Dean trailed off, unsure of how to phrase what he wanted to say. “Er, why do you think Cas is--” 

“Are you trying to ask me why Castiel fell?” Gabriel said in an amused tone. 

“Kinda,” Dean said. 

“It couldn’t be more obvious,” Gabriel said. “How is it possible that you’re so horribly unable to recognize romantic love when it literally  _ falls  _ for you? Come on, Dean-o.”

“But--” 

“Other angels have done it too, you know,” Gabriel said. “Once again, you’re not that special.” 

“So you think…” Dean stammered. “You think he’ll be okay here? Others… have been okay?” 

“I think that depends on you,” Gabriel said. “Do I have to do the whole ‘don’t treat my little brother badly’ speech to you, Dean? It would be a  _ little _ awkward, I barely know Castiel. But it could also be funny.”

“No, no, don’t do the speech,” Dean said. 

“Are you sure?” Gabriel said. “Because now I’m kind of in character, and I kind of want to do the thing where I tell you all kinds of embarrassing stories about Castiel, like when he literally defied orders and ‘befriended’ Julius Caesar, for instance… Oh man, you really had to be there, Dean, it was hilarious, even  _ I  _ heard about it, and I was very busy and high-profile back then--”

“It’s okay,” Dean cut him off, feeling embarrassed. “Me and Cas will be fine. I just worry about him sometimes, leaving his family for me, but the more I talk to you, the more I think him leaving you guys might be a good thing.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Gabriel said, cracking a crooked smile. “Can you please rush to your brother’s side now? I didn’t really plan to be here this long.” 

“Bye, Gabriel,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. 

Gabriel disappeared in lew of a goodbye, the air around him making a dramatic and unnecessary whooshing sound. He left a scrap of something behind in the air, something Dean initially mistook for a tiny feather but was actually a long lollipop stick. Dean plucked it out of the air, where it was defying the laws of physics and floating lazily, waiting for him to take it, and put it in his jacket pocket. 

~~~

Dean was struggling to believe that Sam was actually in a coma, even though he was right in front of him, unresponsive in the bed. His body looked fine -- his hair was a bit longer than usual, his face a bit thinner, but he still had most of his muscle tone, and the slight ruddiness in his face made him look like he’d only just come in from a brisk walk. He looked like he should be able to spring out of bed at any moment, except that he wasn’t springing out of bed. He didn’t react to anything Dean tried to say or do. Cas dutifully put his hands on him and attempted to "read his soul's health" or whatever new-agey bullshit he did now, but he just pulled them away quickly and shook his head. 

“What do we do now?” Dean said. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” 

“I understand,” Cas said softly. 

“I mean… I don’t have a purpose, Cas,” Dean said. He was crying, he realized. His eyes had been persistently leaking since the day Sam had come back. He had lost track of exactly when that had been, but at least a few days had passed already. 

“I think you just need to find a new purpose,” Cas said. “Everyone needs a purpose, of course, however banal it may be… it seems to help humans, to have a purpose.” 

“My entire life was about keeping Sam safe, and I failed,” Dean said. “I went to hell and I left him... vulnerable... and now look at him.” 

“You didn’t fail, Dean,” Cas said. “You can’t make his decisions for him. He chose to do this. And you  _ did  _ help him. You freed him from Lucifer.” 

“But now--” 

“Now we wait,” Cas said firmly. “We wait for Sam to wake up, and we find you a new thing to do in the meantime.”

~~~

On the fifth-year anniversary of Sam’s “return,” Dean drove up to Bobby’s with an idea. 

“Just help me get him into the car, would you, Bobby?” Dean said, lifting the upper part of Sam’s body out of the bed with a grunt. The kid was heavier than he’d remembered. 

“This is stupid,” Bobby said, but he indulged him anyways, and the two clumsily took Sam down the stairs and shoved him into the passenger seat. Dean buckled his seatbelt for him, because he knew the nerd would want him to. 

“Okay, we’re gonna go for a quick drive,” Dean said, taking his place in the driver’s seat. “See ya, Bobby.” 

“I want to see both you idjits back here in one piece, you hear me?” Bobby called after them. 

The impala was just about the same as it had always been -- Dean still drove it to work every day, and kept it in the best possible shape it could be. Cas preferred to fly most places, so proof of his presence, which was all over their house, was nowhere to be found in the impala. It may as well have been 2006 again, before Dean went to hell, before Sam went comatose, before any of that. Dean put in his favorite Bon Jovi tape, turned the volume up high, and raced down the empty road. 

Eventually, he found a good place to turn off, a dirt road that ended by a watering hole that some cows were grazing by. It was nearly evening, and no one else was around. He turned the radio off. 

“So,” Dean said. “Long time no talk, huh?” 

Beside him, Sam sat quietly, alarmingly straight for a person who was in a supernaturally-induced coma and had been for years. 

“Sorry about that,” Dean continued. “I’m trying to do right by Cas, you know? He’s never pushed me away from you or anything like that, of course, but he wanted to set down roots someplace, so I wanted to actually do that for him. You’re glad I’m trying the picket-fence thing, right? I think you would be. I mean, you did this with Jessica, didn’t you, except you guys were just babies then. Twenty-two, god, that’s so young to be acting like upstanding members of society. Meanwhile I’m in my  _ thirties,  _ can you believe it? I lived to be a respectable member of society.” He nudged Sam’s arm. “So did you.” 

Outside, the sun dipped lower, casting everything in a purplish half-light. The first crickets of the night tentatively began to chirp. 

“I wanted to tell you something I’ve been thinking about recently,” Dean said. “Well, dreaming about, I guess. The nightmares haven’t gone away, you know. I’m sure they never will. But anyways, you know who’s been showing up a lot lately, for some reason? Dad. And I realized I never told you what happened with that old bastard. Which is odd, as you’re the only one else who really cares probably, right? No one else here is John Winchester’s son.

“Anyways, back when I was in hell that second time... I spent years looking for him, right? Scouring the depths of hell… I think I’ve told you about all that already, I don’t want to repeat myself. But I’m retracing Cas’s steps, basically, going deeper and deeper into hell, and finally, I find him, and he’s all alone, and I know he’s a demon at this point, but he doesn’t look like one. He looks like… well, he looks like Dad. And I can tell he recognizes me. I say, ‘Hi, Dad,’ and he looks a little confused, says, ‘Dean?’ And I say, ‘yeah Dad, it’s me,’ and he… well, you know how he is, he asks me to tell him something only the real me would know. So I’m feeling ballsy, and I tell him about the time he came home from a hunt to find me fooling around with that kid Evan... I don’t think you’d remember him, I was too embarrassed to tell you about him when we were in high school, but now I don’t care, right? And you wouldn’t believe it, but Dad actually laughs. He believes it’s me! He says only the real Dean would be such a cheeky motherfucker as to bring that up. 

“So I try to ask him how he’s been, and the whole time I’m feeling awkward because I’m there to exorcise him, basically  _ kill  _ him as far as I know, and he doesn’t really seem able to answer my questions, like he keeps getting distracted, seems like he’s mostly somewhere else. And he’s getting a little distressed, so I ask him if I can help him somehow. And he tells me that he thinks he can be exorcised, and he wants me to do it ASAP, and I can hardly believe my luck. I mean, the old man becomes a demon, and he’s still conscious that if he escapes he’s going to hurt people, and he wants the threat to be eliminated, you know? So I act like it’s his idea… I mean, I’m laughing about it now, but it was hard to do, you know? I mean, despite everything he fucking put me through, I missed the old man… do you ever miss him, too? Is it crazy to miss him? Like, I kind of hate him, but I still missed him... is it just me? Ahh, I don’t know.

“So, anyways, I prepare to do the spell Death gave me, and the whole time Dad’s going on about how he’s ready to go onto the next realm and all that, like even if what I do makes him disappear forever, he’s happier with that than becoming a demon and killing people. And it’s making me feel a little better about things, but not much. Like at the end of the day, it still feels like... the worst thing I've ever had to do. But I do it anyways... I have to. 

“And… do you know what his final words were, right after I finished the spell, right before he disappeared? His final words were apologizing, to me, for putting all the blame on  _ you  _ all those years ago, for acting like you were gonna turn evil and saying I might have to kill you. He was sorry because  _ he  _ was the one who actually did it! He was the one who turned evil in the end. It wasn’t you, Sammy, it never was. The whole time… look, both of us were wrong. Him and me. You just… you weren’t perfect, obviously, but you weren’t the one who started everything. He was the one who broke the first seal, he was the one who let Lucifer out in the first place. And he’s gone, now, somewhere peaceful, I hope. I _think_ he made it somewhere peaceful.” 

Dean took a breath, and looked at his brother, still unresponsive. 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking in there, Sammy,” Dean finished. “But I hope it’s not anything angry towards yourself. That’s not on you, kid. You can’t put that on yourself. And when I first came back from hell… I don’t know if I was talking to you at all, or if it was just Lucifer pretending, right from the beginning. But if any of that was you… I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I made it worse. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. Anyone in the situation we were in could have just as easily made a bad decision, all right? And we fixed it, anyways. Everything’s fine now.” 

Dean tentatively clapped his brother on the shoulder. Sam felt warm and alive, as he always did, his heart still persistently beating warm blood through his body. 

“Cas thinks that you might be able to wake up in a year or two,” Dean said in a conversational tone, as if it wasn’t something he thought about all the fucking time. “I don’t know if he’s right… he’s basically just a human with a few weird abilities now, you know, so it’s not like he’s all-knowing or anything… but... I don’t know. I think I believe him. Can you believe that? I think I believe him.” 

He looked over at Sam, grinning. 

“I believe him,” he said again. Did Sam smile back? It was just a trick of the light, surely, and it immediately passed, Sam’s face completely blank within a blink of an eye, but Dean decided to take it as a sign anyways. 

“Anyways, we can head back now,” Dean said, starting up the engine again with a turn of the key. “Bobby gets a little mad when I take you out like this, but I know you’d hate being in one room for so long. You need me to keep your life interesting. Not  _ too  _ interesting, mind you. Like I said, Bobby would throw a fit. But hey,” he turned onto the paved road again, car purring peacefully beneath them. “We’ll talk again soon. And you’ll be a better conversationalist next time, maybe actually say a word or two for once, complain about something dumb and piss me off. I believe you will. We’re overdue for something good to happen, I think.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT if you are still here wanting to read this after I fully planned to finish this in January and took all the way until March.... just know that I FUCKING LOVE YOU and thanks for hanging in there
> 
> Lots of shit happened that caused the massive delay but to make a long story short my hands don't work right :/ hard to type without working hands lol, but I had to work around it and finish this
> 
> THANKS FOR BEING HERE 🖤
> 
> my tumblr: fruitfish.tumblr.com


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